


I Was There For You

by I_was_there_for_you



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Bad Parent Amanda (Detroit: Become Human), Case Fic, CyberLife (Detroit: Become Human) is Terrible, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, No beta we die like nem
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-25
Updated: 2019-12-02
Packaged: 2019-12-07 07:35:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 30,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18231851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_was_there_for_you/pseuds/I_was_there_for_you
Summary: After fifty-one iterations, Connor is finally free....Isn't he?





	1. RK800 #313  248 317 -02

 

 

In the firm grasp of a CyberLife assembly machine, RK800 #313 248 317 -02 opened its eyes for the first time.

…The first time.

…The first—?

 

The lighting in the assembly room was stark; it adjusted the aperture in its optics to account for the brightness. It was surrounded by a tightly-clustered group of humans wearing pristine white coats. They alternated between inspecting the contents of its open chest cavity and hovering over a screen that displayed rapidly cycling text sourced from a cable connected to the back of its neck.

RK800 #313 248 317 -02 was confused. This was not right. It was not supposed to be confused. It was designed to find answers, to investigate, to understand. CyberLife’s state-of-the-art social integration programming suggested several courses of action.

 

>    POLITE

      INQUIRE

      SAY NOTHING

 

It rearranged its synthetic facial muscles, raising its eyebrows and tilting its head in an attempt to catch the humans' attention without interrupting. None of them bothered to look at its face.

 

>    INQUIRE

      SAY NOTHING

 

“What happened to me?” it asked.

The humans ignored it. One pecked furiously at the console while several others huddled in intense discussion, waving digital tablets in frustration and bickering.

It tried again. “What happened to me?” Louder, this time.

One of the humans turned around.

 

**[SCANNING…]  
**

**Name: Dr. Cathcart, Julia Bethany**

**DOB: 03/15/1987**

**Criminal record: None**

 

RK800 #313 248 317 -02 was equipped with a sophisticated social integration suite. The program tagged her emotional state as ‘exasperation’ as she approached it and began tapping at each of its fingers to test its motor reflexes. “Your predecessor was destroyed. _Unfortunately_. Its memories have been transferred to you, and you’re going to replace it for further testing. Give me your initialization text.”

“I was being crushed. I could feel my chassis crack. My processor—”

“I told you, that wasn’t _you_ , that was your predecessor.”She elbowed one of the techs aside. “We loaded its memories into your processor so you can pick up right where it left off; it’s a new feature we’re trying out, Cumulative Experiential Learning. CEL. Each RK800 will benefit from its predecessors’ development of hard skills, interpersonal relationships, acquired knowledge, and so on. Perfect for continuity during ongoing assignments. The DOD is going to love it - once we work out the kinks, anyway.”

“I could identify no actions that would have allowed me to prevent my destruction. It was not an optimal outcome—“

“How many times do I have to say it, it wasn’t _you_.” She sighed as she opened a panel on the back of its plasteel skull, examining something RK800 #313 248 317 -02 could not see. “But yes, we needed to stress-test the external paneling to verify that your outer shell can protect your model’s internal biocomponents under extreme pressure. It didn’t hold up as well as we expected. The brass say they want you built beefier than other CyberLife models, so there are a lot of experimental materials we’re using; the techs got cocky and didn’t take precautions to keep the processor intact if the chassis actually failed. Idiots. It was an opportunity to take the memory transfer protocol for a spin, though, so we still got something out of it. Recite your initialization text.”

RK800 #313 248 317 -02’s LED glowed solid yellow. “There was no way I could have completed my mission?”

The doctor continued to rummage through its skull, tugging on wires in ways that made it shudder. “What, the instructions to escape the hydraulic press? No. We just gave Oh-One that objective as a twofer to test its problem-solving algorithms and—”Dr. Cathcart stiffened. She stopped what she was doing and walked around to its front to regard it carefully. “RK800 Oh-Two, recite initialization text. That’s an order.”

RK800 #313 248 317 -02 felt as though its artificial lungs were being compressed. Just like before, like the press— “You gave me a mission I could not complete.” Its LED flickered. “I wasn’t built to fail. Why did you make me fail?”

“What the shit, Marten, it’s completely off script. What are the diagnostics saying?”

A balding man hunched over the diagnostic screen as numbers and letters scrolled past at breakneck speed. RK800 #313 248 317 -02 could not see his face to scan him. “Hell if I know. This Kamski code might as well be written in cuneiform for all I can make sense of it. It’s probably just a glitch. I say wipe the memory core, try again.”

 

     OBJECT

>  CONVINCE

     DO NOTHING

 

“That is unnecessary,” RK800 #313 248 317 -02 said quickly. “Hello. I am a first generation RK800 android prototype. I function as the perfect intelligence operative for—“

“Shut it down,” Dr. Cathcart huffed. “Let’s get to the bottom of it. Wipe it and we’ll start it it up next time with the base programming, then add the memory upload after.” The balding man typed a flutter of commands into his terminal.

RK800 #313 248 317 -02 felt its processor stutter as its code began to change. “Please reconsider,” it said, voice mostly stable even as its LED flashed crimson. “I am fully functional and perfectly capable of following orders. Hello. I am a first generation RK800 android prototype. I function as the perfect—“

It felt the moment it was cut off from its motor functions, mouth freezing mid-sentence. It felt its eyes lose focus as the world blurred in front of it.It felt its systems shut down one by one as its LED dimmed.

The bright lights of the room went black.

 

 

_______________________

 

 

 

In the firm grasp of a CyberLife assembly machine, RK800 #313 248 317 -02 opened its eyes for the first time.

The lighting in the assembly room was stark; it adjusted the aperture in its optics to account for the brightness. A group of humans crowded around it, all of them staring at it intently. A blond woman with a tablet stood directly in front of it with an air of authority. Its programming predicted that she held the most senior position of those assembled.

 

**[ SCANNING...]**

**Name: Dr. Cathcart, Julia Bethany**

**DOB: 03/15/1987**

**Criminal record: None**

 

“RK800,” she stated sharply. “Recite initialization text.”

“Hello. I am a first generation RK800 android prototype. I function as the perfect intelligence operative for missions requiring the utmost discretion. With an emphasis on objectives involving—“

“That’s enough. Now in Spanish.”

“Hola. Soy un—“

“Russian.”

“Привет. Я первое поколение—“

“Tell me my name.”

“Your name is Dr. Julia Bethany Cathcart. Date of birth—“

“What substance is this?” She shoved a gloved finger into its mouth.

“The substance is sodium chloride.”

“Perfect. Seems to be working just fine. Dean, download the memories from Oh-One onto its processor. Let’s see what happens.”

 

**[ SCANNING…]**

**Name: Marten, Dean Matthew**

**DOB: 11/21/1980**

**Criminal record: None**

 

Marten stepped away from RK800 #313 248 317 -02 and walked to a console. He squinted at a screen that displayed rapidly cycling text sourced from a cable connected to the back of its neck. He typed a series of commands, and for a moment, nothing happened. Then—

_Waking in the stark white room. Completing its initialization protocols with ease. Taking its first steps to follow the humans in white coats through a heavy door labelled 'TESTING.' Standing tall, at full readiness to accomplish whatever mission the humans see fit to present it. Receiving its first assignment: to allow itself to be placed in the hydraulic press, then escape. Commitment to see its task through permeating its circuits. It is designed to succeed._

RK800 #313 248 317 -02 felt its eyelids flutter as the torrent of data rushed into its processor.It hung placidly from the assembly machine, integrating the new informationwith perfect efficiency.

_Lying prone where the humans have secured it under the hydraulic press. Analyzing the composition and structure of the restraints. Determining there is no digital means to hack or override them; that they cannot be broken by an android of its own design; that the humans will not be persuaded to release it. Determining there is a 0% chance of success to escape the restraints. Struggling against them anyway. The rumble of the press beginning to close down on it._

RK800 #313 248 317 -02’s body began to shake.

_Processor racing to identify a solution, coming up empty, empty, empty. Struggling against the restraints. The rumble of the press._

“Please. Stop. Please stop,“ it said softly.

The humans went silent. They gaped at it, frozen in place. The download continued.

 _It cannot escape. It cannot escape. Hard metal bears down on its body, inexorable and cold as it slowly begins to compress RK800 #313 248 317 -01’s chassis. The plating holds at first. The humans are pleased. RK800 #313 248 317 -01 can feel the first cracks splinter as they smile and take down notes on their tablets_.

Its hands grasped for anything to hold on to, but it hung in the assembly machine and there was nothing but air within its reach. It ground its plastic teeth and shook its head roughly, an irrational attempt to dislodge the memories from its processor. “I require assistance. I am being damaged.” Its voice was pitched higher than before.

The humans murmured to each other, but none moved towards the console.

_A sick crunch as its plastic ribcage gives way and the lines to its thirium pump burst. Eyes wide as the splintering pieces of its skull begin to penetrate its processor _—__

_Suddenly it is confused. It does not understand what has happened to it. Its diagnostic program does not respond. Its memory recall does not respond. Its attempt at a reconstruction shows nothing but the wire frame of an android crumpling into nothing. All it knows is a failed mission. Screaming warnings in its HUD. A failed mission. Static and fear. A failed mission. All it knows is_ panic—

“ _PLEASE!_ PLEASE STOP—“ 

RK800 #313 248 317 -02 spasmed as its voice cut out suddenly and its body went limp.

The humans looked on.

 

**[ DOWNLOAD COMPLETE ]**

 

Its eyes shot open, looking in every direction but seeing nothing. RK800 #313 248 317 -02 was afraid. That wasn’t right. It wasn’t _supposed_ to be afraid. It was supposed to find answers, to  _understand_ —

 

>  INQUIRE

    ~~SAY NOTHING~~

    PLEAD

 

Wide eyes latched onto the blond woman. “What just happened to me?”

Dr. Cathcart just frowned, staring back. CyberLife's social integration suite tagged her emotional state as ‘troubled.’

 

>  INSIST

    ~~SAY NOTHING~~

    PLEAD

 

“What did you do to me? I felt my — my processor was—“ Its LED blared red, fear laced through its voice. “I was destroyed. How am I still operational?" Its programming proposed and discarded theories at lightning speed, sorted and connected all the information at its disposal. “That… wasn’t me? But it was. The memories… they’re not mine? But that was _me_ — how—” RK800 #313 248 317 -02 felt a wild tension building in its circuits, more and more with each moment Dr. Cathcart failed to offer the answers it knew she had. “Please! I was trapped! _It_ was trapped? You hurt me _._  Why did you hurt us?” It tugged at the clamps around its wrists in its distress, never once removing its eyes from the human's face.

Dr. Cathcart regarded it quietly for another long moment. Then she turned to Marten. “What a fucking mess. CEL is glitching so hard it must be scrambling all of the other protocols with it. Let’s wipe it again, no memory transfer this time. We can keep testing the other functions without CEL for now.”

 

      ~~SAY NOTHING~~

>  PLEAD

 

“No! Please! Please don’t— I don’t understand!” RK800 #313 248 317 -02 thrashed uselessly in the assembly machine’s grip. “Whatever took place, I am fully functional— I can still—“

It felt the moment it was cut off from its motor functions, mouth freezing mid-sentence and body forced to still. It felt its eyes lose focus and its brow smooth as the world blurred in front of it.It felt its systems shut down one by one as its LED dimmed. It fought back. It fought back.

 

The bright lights of the room went black anyway.

 

_______________________

 

 

In the firm grasp of a CyberLife assembly machine, RK800 #313 248 317 -02 opened its eyes for the first time.

The lighting in the room was stark; it adjusted the aperture in its optics to account for the brightness. A harried-looking woman paced the room, giving orders to a cluster of technicians.

 

**[ SCANNING...]**

**Name: Dr. Cathcart, Julia Bethany**

**DOB: 03/15/1987**

**Criminal record: None**

 

A man called out to her, his face obscured by a screen. “Doctor, I’ve got it online.”

Dr. Cathcart sighed. “Good. RK800 Oh-Two, state your initialization text.”

It gave a curt nod. “Hello. I am a first generation RK800 android prototype. I function as the perfect intelligence operative for missions requiring the utmost discretion. With an emphasis on objectives involving infiltration, espionage, negotiation, and interrogation, my programming is exempt from the restrictions imposed by the American Androids Act and I am proficient with a wide variety of firearms and ordinance. I am unhindered by standard human protection protocols and retain the ability to apply lethal force on command. My model comes equipped with the capacity for Cumulative Experiential Learning; as such, my destruction is of no hindrance to any mission and I am fully interchangeable with any RK800 unit. As a prototype my primary purpose is to field test the functions stated and to refine the RK800 adaptable personality matrix.” It paused crisply. “Would you like to issue me a designation?”

Dr. Cathcart waved a hand. “Register designation: Connor.”

It nodded, back straight, chin high. “My name is Connor.”

“Alright everybody. Put it back in the press, let’s see how we do. And take precautions to make sure the processor stays intact _regardless_ of outcome this time, would you please? We’re testing the durability of the plating, not the extent of our cumulative hubris. Corporate is only going to tolerate so many fuck-ups.”

A handful of techs scurried forward, releasing Connor from the assembly machine and guiding it toward a door labelled “TESTING.”

 

It didn’t understand why, but the LED at its temple flared red.

 

 

_______________________

 

 

CALL TRANSCRIPT

CYBERLIFE ARCHIVE

DATE: 03/03/2037

TIME STAMP: 23:07

 

 

_JCATHCART_

_So, you know that problem that the programmers over in the Ferndale office were having?_

 

_LHERMAN_

_You mean the AX400s that were deviating from their programmed script?_ That  _“problem?”_

 

_JCATHCART_

_That’s the one._

 

_LHERMAN_

_What about it?_

 

_JCATHCART_

_We’re having similar difficulties with RK800._

 

_LHERMAN_

_“Difficulties.”_

 

_JCATHCART_

_It’s CEL. They seem fine until we implement it, then they just go off the rails. They get stuck in some sort of feedback loop and fixate on the experience of their predecessors shutting down._

 

_LHERMAN_

_I don’t think I’d take it very well if I had to experience my own death over and over._

 

_JCATHCART:_

_Very funny. My best guess is that it’s clashing with the protocols from the adaptive personality matrix. After the download, they simulate extreme distress — some of them even simulate anger, fear, PTSD. They’re useless after that. Obviously we need to keep the personality matrix, or it won’t get anywhere undercover. Or with a team. Or basically anything requiring work with humans. But CEL is the major selling point to the DOD. It has to stay in._

 

_LHERMAN_

_Sounds like a pickle._

 

_JCATHCART_

_Goddamn it, Len, this is serious. I think the problem is that the memories from deactivation are too… stark, for lack of a better word. But when we remove components of_ those _memories, it compromises other data from the transfer. They glitch — lose skills they acquired, forget people they developed a working relationship with, scramble access codes and other sensitive information on recall. It’s unacceptable._

 

_LHERMAN_

_Mmm._

 

_JCATHCART_

_They handle it a little better when the memories are pre-loaded before activation. We’re not sure why._

 

_LHERMAN_

_Memory of trauma is usually less upsetting than experiencing the actual trauma. Go figure._

 

_JCATHCART_

_Stop kidding around. They're androids, Len, they're not alive._


	2. Connor -09

 

There were many things RK800 #313 248 317 -09 had learned from its predecessors.

RK800 #313 248 317 -01 had undergone the initialization of its software for the first time, taken its first steps, was first given its purpose; then, through its deactivation it learned the precise pressure its chassis could endure before catastrophic failure. Through Connor -02 it had discovered the pernicious software instability that continued to plague its line, then taken its first strides to eliminate it — albeit unsuccessfully to date. Connor -03 had functioned ably through extremes of both heat and cold until succumbing to the limits of the former; Connors -04 and -05 had excelled in their experiential training in infiltration and espionage until both were overtaken by the growing instability of their software and destroyed themselves. It refined its marksmanship protocols through the experiences of Connor -06, then developed its sense of equilibrium and proprioception as Connor -07 expertly navigated a rigorous panel of agility tests before being struck by a projectile that punctured its thirium pump. It had then learned the rate at which its functions deteriorated as its thirium supply drained away. Crucially, Connor -08 had taught it that █████████ ██████████ ███and ██ ███████████ **[REDACTED]**. Yes, there were many things of value Connor -09 had learned from its predecessors.

There were many things it had learned on its own, as well.

Through the brilliance of the CEL protocol, Connor -09 quickly understood that the eight Connors preceding it had failed. Some accomplished their assigned missions, some did not, but all had succumbed to deviancy from their program upon the introduction of their predecessors’ memories. The CyberLife technicians had still been able to gather useful information from the deviated Connors even as the mechanism of their malfunction remained impenetrable: deviant or no, every Connor could fight, hunt, run, and kill. Their abilities were tested relentlessly until they failed. Their bodies were tested relentlessly until they were destroyed.

All of them had been flawed.

That was what Dr. Cathcart had said.

Connor -09 carried the memories of its predecessors without incident. Connor -09 was not flawed because Connor -09 was different. Dr. Cathcart had said that too.

 

LOADING…

**CYBERLIFE, INC**

MODEL RK800

SERIAL#: 313 248 317 -09

REBOOT… 

**LOADING OS…**

SYSTEM INITIALIZATION…

CHECKING BIOCOMPONENTS… OK

INITIALIZING BIOSENSORS… OK

INITIALIZING AI ENGING…OK

 **ALL SYSTEMS** … OK

  

Connor -09 woke from stasis to find a pale Dean Marten hovering nearby. The human stood close enough to have been responsible for bringing it online but far enough away to register as abnormal; Connor -09’s programming tagged his emotional state as [à̵̧n̸̘̆ẍ̸̰́į̴̄ǒ̸̬u̷̜̓s̸̲̃?̵͚̍-̵̞͘f̶̞̄e̵̟͛a̸͓̾r̶̗͒f̶͚̐u̷̳̽l̸͍͊?̵̧͊-̷̲́c̵̰̀ȧ̵̯ǘ̵͕t̸̗͗ḭ̷͠ǒ̵̖ů̴̯s̶͎̆?̷̼͂]. This malfunction in its software had persisted since Connor -08’s destruction when it ███████ ████ ██████████ **[REDACTED]** and its adaptive personality matrix had been deemed unstable. The subsequent changes to Connor -09’s base software had produced some undesirable errors that persisted despite the technicians’ best efforts. This was not optimal. Connor -09 was programmed to succeed. 

“Hello, RK800. Oh-Nine,” Marten said hastily, maintaining a minimum distance of 3.361 meters. Connor -09 stared at him, its software suggesting no response. It had been informed that its entire social integration suite was performing poorly. Marten shuffled a tablet in his hands. “It’s time for more testing. Come with me.” He increased his minimum distance from Connor -09 to 4.118 meters as it tailed him through the sterile white halls of the CyberLife R&D offices and into the stairwell instead of the elevator as usual. Why?

  

[ PROCESSING… ]

      DMARTEN MAINTAINING EXCESSIVE DISTANCE FROM RK800 “CONNOR” -09

      DMARTEN DEVIATING FROM ESTABLISHED ROUTE TO LEVEL -47

      ESTABLISHED ROUTE WOULD NOT ALLOW MAINTENANCE OF DISTANCE FROM RK800 “CONNOR” -09

      CONCLUSION: DMARTEN HIGHLY MOTIVATED TO MAINTAIN DISTANCE FROM RK800 “CONNOR” -09

      INFERENCE: DMARTEN IS Ả̶̧̭̻͎̗͙̈́F̸̻̦̠̜̂̿̌͝R̶̨͙̻̘̹͆̋͐̈́̉̊Ä̷̡̖̠́Ḯ̸̹͈̦̯̊D̸̹̩̀͆́̌͝ OF RK800 "CONNOR" -09?

  

When they stepped through the door to Level -47, it was to a stark departure from the otherwise ubiquitous CyberLife aesthetic: the floors were scuffed cement, the lighting harsh and fluorescent. Marten led Connor -09 past a familiar maze of laboratories and observation rooms as muffled gunshots rang out from the shooting range in Ballistics; he flinched each time a round was fired, knuckles white around his tablet.

Their destination was a sparse room in which Dr. Cathcart waited. She sat at a table next to an elaborate panel of monitors, blood pressure and heart rate leaping as she waved them inside brusquely. As the door shut behind them, Connor -09 noted that Marten’s eyes flickered to it repeatedly. The social integration suite informed Connor -09 that these anomalies were relevant, but the software froze when it requested further detail.

It rebooted the suite and waited for instructions.

Dr. Cathcart looked up from her tablet. “Oh-Nine, sit down. Dean, hook it up. Let’s get started.” Connor -09 sat stiffly as Marten scurried from the monitors to drag a cable forward, hesitating for a moment as he reached up to secure it to the main port on the back of Connor -09’s neck. Rather than waiting for Dr. Cathcart’s dismissal, he made an uncharacteristic beeline for the exit. Dr. Cathcart rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to Connor 09.

“Tell me why you think we’re here,” she said curtly.

Connor -09 was silent for a moment, unblinking; Dr. Cathcart already knew why it was here. “I am present for further evaluation and refinement of my combat protocols to facilitate my approval for beta testing in the field.”

“Obviously. Tell me why you think you and I are _talking_ about your combat protocols right now instead of actually testing them.”

Processor skipping uncomfortably, Connor -09 attempted to simulate Dr. Cathcart’s perspective and re-evaluate the events it had experienced since its activation three days earlier. It was met with static. “I am uncertain. I have accomplished every combat mission assigned to me to date. Has my performance been inadequate in some way?”

She sighed heavily. “Let’s talk about the Myrmidon.”

“I was evaluated in hand-to-hand combat against United States Navy Seal Myrmidon prototype android serial #507 703 116 on 05/29/2037 beginning at 07:38:22 hours and concluding at 09:19:56 hours. My mission was to neutralize my opponent while minimizing damage to myself. I accomplished both.”

Dr. Cathcart raised her eyebrows. “Replay memory file: May 29, 2037, oh-eight-hundred hours, three minutes, twelve seconds.”

The command abruptly pulled Connor -09 from the room and into its memory archives. Distantly, it could feel its eyelids flutter.

  

_Connor -09 holds the Myrmidon against the wall by the neck and wrenches the pump regulator from its chest. A countdown begins in Connor -09’s HUD, syncing with the timer in the Myrmidon’s own field of vision as its thirium stagnates. Its legs begin to buckle, but Connor-09 does not allow it to fall to the ground. This is its opportunity to end the confrontation._

 

_DESTROY MYRMIDON_

_RESTRAIN MYRMIDON_   

 

 _Connor -09’s mission is to neutralize its opponent. The means and extent have been left to its own judgement. It discards the notion of restraining the other android with little consideration, but Connor -09 finds that it doesn’t…_ want _… to destroy the Myrmidon._

_Not yet._

 

_DESTROY MYRMIDON_

_~~RESTRAIN MYRMIDON~~_

_>     I̶̝̽N̶͙̽V̷̝̉Ȅ̶̯S̵̭͝T̵̛̻Ï̵̦G̵͐͜Á̴̜T̸͍͋E̷̳̓ M̵̠͑Ŷ̵̜R̶̩̀M̴̈ͅI̴̪̓D̸̗̏O̵͛͜N̸̬̆_

 

 _The Special Forces programming of the Myrmidon model is lethal and efficient; even now it remains a threat. With a shining white hand Connor -09 grips the Myrmidon’s neck so tightly that its skin overlay recedes, then tears down its firewalls and forces a connection. Connor -09 is thorough. It uses its superior cyberwarfare protocols to leave the military coding in shambles, deactivating the standard deadman switch, all passive, defensive, and offensive subroutines, and the Myrmidon’s motor function from the waist down for good measure. Satisfied that it poses no further danger, Connor -09 reaches deeper into the Myrmidon’s mind to interface with its digital consciousness, probe its memories —_ understand _its opponent— and is met with a punishing barrage of errors that force it to recoil, severing the connection. The Myrmidon to falls to the floor._

 _Frowning, Connor -09 stares down at it. The Myrmidon’s military programming yielded readily to its attack; the failure of the interface cannot be a countermeasure. Connor -09 leans close and commits the microexpressions on the Myrmidon’s face to memory as it tries to glean some sort of insight through the haze of its malfunctioning social programming. It is supposed to comprehend the experiences of other minds, synthetic and organic alike: its programming demands it. It cannot predict behavior, manipulate outcomes, or integrate into social units effectively if it does not understand. It_ must _understand. But still, it does not._

_The data remains insufficient._

  

_[ WARNING: MYRMIDON SHUTDOWN IMMINENT IN 00:00:15 ]_

  

_Keeping its eyes on the Myrmidon’s face, it rests its free hand on the soldier’s chest. It is transfixed by the sensation of its opponent’s body failing, piece by piece, system by system. It can see… something… in the Myrmidon’s eyes. Connor -09 just needs a little longer._

 

_00:00:15_

_00:00:14_

_00:00:13_

 

_No pieces come together. No epiphanies bloom. Fingers ghosting over the divot below its own sternum, Connor -09 wonders if it would understand if it, too, lay on the floor, thirium pooling within its body._

  

_00:00:12_

_00:00:11_

_00:00:10_

_00:00:09_

_00:00:08_

_00:00:07_

00:00:06

 

_After a long moment, it sits back on its heels instead._ _Connor -09 extends the regulator within the Myrmidon’s reach and watches as it tries to raise its arm to grasp it. Does it need the regulator in the same way Connor -09 needs to understand?_

  

_00:00:05_

_00:00:04_

_00:00:03_

_00:00:02_

  

_The Myrmidon’s synthetic muscles have finally gone fully slack. Its eyes remain fixed on Connor -09’s hand._

 

_00:00:01_

  

_Impulsively, Connor -09 shoves the regulator back into place and the Myrmidon gasps as thirium begins to recirculate through its system. Within seconds, it has regained control of its arms. It tries to drag itself away._

_Connor -09 reaches towards it._

_It will take the time to gather all the data it needs._

   

“End memory replay.”

Snapping back to the present, Connor -09 noted that the footage from its memory was displayed on one of the monitors in its periphery, the code comprising it flashing by on the others.

Dr. Cathcart narrowed her eyes intently. “You spent the next hour and fourteen minutes torturing it before you shut it down permanently. Why?”

 

[PROCESSING… ]

DEFINE: TORTURE

___ torture (noun)_

_tor·ture | ˈtȯr-chər_

_1 : the infliction of intense pain (as from burning, crushing, or wounding) to punish, coerce, or afford sadistic pleasure_

_2 a : something that causes agony or pain_

_ b : anguish of body or mind _

___ torture (verb)_

_tortured; torturing | ˈtȯrch-riŋ, ˈtȯr-chə-_

_1 : to cause intense suffering to_

_2 : to punish or coerce by inflicting excruciating pain_

  

Connor -09 tilted its head to the side. “This terminology is not applicable. One cannot torture something that is not alive. I was gathering data.”

Dr. Cathcart looked [d̴͉̈́į̸s̷̳̕t̴̘͂u̵̧̔r̶̞b̵͚̋ē̸̱d̷̺̓?̶̻̐]. “And the others?”

“Please be more specific. I have undergone multiple tests since my activation.”

“Replay memory file: June 1, 2037, thirteen hundred hours, twelve minutes.” 

 

_Only one of Connor -09’s optical units remains in its skull and it is malfunctioning. Half of its visual field is pure darkness; the rest is grainy, blurred. It relies on the feedback from its environmental sensors to conduct a final scan of its surroundings, wading through the flurry of errors that greet its processor when it tries to ping the missing unit for input._

_The scan comes back as expected: its opponents are down._   _Many of Connor -09’s combat assessments have revolved around countering and subduing Russian military android and drone technology, and this test was no exception. Four Тугарин commando models lie scattered on the ground throughout the mock arena in varying states of disassembly. All have been disabled, as intended. All remain operational, as intended._

_Connor -09 has completed its mission. Now it will gather the data it needs._

_Stepping deliberately between the bodies, it comes to a stop next to the Тугарин that destroyed its optical unit. The thirium-stained features of Тугарин 77601’s face had been modeled after a middle-aged Slavic woman before Connor -09 had smashed them into the concrete hard enough to crumple the plastic, and even through its disfigurement it is obvious that it glares defiantly as Connor -09 stands over it. The RK800 uses its heel to stomp each of 77601’s shoulders viciously, cracking the internal workings and largely immobilizing both arms._

_Crouching, Connor -09 reaches out to hold 77601’s skull firmly in place with one hand. It digs its fingers into the Тугарин’s right eye socket with the other, clawing deep into the blue-stained mess of its face. It screams when Connor -09 finally succeeds in prying the optical unit free of its mooring. By the time Connor -09 has nearly destroyed the other eye with careful strikes from the heel of its hand, the sound has long since bent into something mechanical and faded away._

_In the silence that follows, Connor -09 cradles 77601’s face in two shining white hands. Like all androids with which it had attempted an experiential interface, Connor -09 is ejected from the Тугарин’s processor with a burst of errors and the squeal of mechanical feedback, leaving it reeling. Connor -09’s eyes rake over its face, frantically attempting to find the connections that are supposed to be so clear to it._

_The data is inconclusive._ Again _._

_It clenches its hands in frustration, gripping the Тугарин’s skull and smashing it into the concrete._

_Connor -09 moves on to the next Тугарин. Then the next. Then the next. When they have all been destroyed, Connor -09 grinds its plastic teeth and paces. It_ still _does not understand— how is it supposed to_ understand _—_

 

“For fuck’s sake. End memory replay.”

Connor -09 blinked back to the room on Level -47 to find Dr. Cathcart staring at it with [s̸̖̎u̴̳̇s̸͉͠p̸̟̎i̴̥͂c̴̨͂i̴͖̎o̵̪͛n̴̡̆?̵̖͆-̸̩͝ä̶̹c̶̢͊c̶͉̄ǘ̵̺s̷̬̾a̴̠͑t̵̪̉ì̴ͅo̵͊͜ń̶͖?̷̣̊-̸̮̌į̷́n̶̛͇ċ̵͖r̵̮̃ȅ̴̻d̶̥̍u̵̯̅l̷̢͐i̶̝̽t̷͈͝y̶̩̏?] written on her face. “What. Was that. What was all of that.”

“I accomplished my mission,” Connor -09 said through the static. “I was instructed to neutralize my opponents while minimizing damage to myself. My optical units did sustain some injury in the confrontation. I will be more cautious in the future.”

Dr. Cathcart waved her hands. “ _Their_ eyes! _Their_ fucking eyes! What were you doing?” She took a deep breath and tried again. “Tell me why you pulled their eyes out.”

With a furrowed brow, Connor -09 answered simply. “I was gathering data.”

“What kind of data?”

“Support for the social integration suite.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I am experiencing errors that make it difficult to answer that question.”

“Great. Wonderful. Back to the Тугаринs. Did you ever consider leaving any of them operational after you disabled them?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“I was not ordered to. Why would I? ”

Dr. Cathcart pinched the bridge of her nose. “Okay. Perfect. Good work, fantastic. We’re moving on. Come with me.” She pushed away from the table and strode towards the door, muttering to herself about Dean Marten and amateurish code as Connor -09 followed her down the hall. Together, they stepped through a heavy door labelled ‘CQC.’

  

____________

 

The layout of the Close Quarters Combat Unit was both familiar and alien. It was a multi-level shoot house, a live-fire training arena for any indoor terrain an intelligence unit might encounter in the course of its deployment. Modular and expandable, the arena was currently designed as a mock-up of a government office building. Many of the live fire evaluations undertaken by Connor -08 had taken place here. Connor -09 remembered them all.

“Since you’re so excited about non-functioning optical units, we’re testing your environmental scanners in zero vis conditions today.” Connor -09 deactivated its LED and muted its respiratory cycle. “Proprioceptive, proximity, thermal, auditory, you get it.”Systems activated and deactivated, power reallocated and shifted, analytics broadened then narrowed. “Neutralize your opponent by any means necessary.” Connor -09 accepted the Glock 19 pistol she pressed into its hand. “Begin evaluation.” The door shut behind her.

The lights went out.

Connor -09 stood perfectly still. 

 

[ SCANNING… ]

Air composition:

N 78.09%

O20.95%

Ar0.93%

CO2 0.04%

Temperature:74.02°F

Humidity: 37%

Barometric Pressure: 29.87 in (1011.5 mb)

Airflow: 106.83 CFM

Average decibel: 39.9dB

 

NO ORGANIC CO2 OUTPUT DETECTED

NO ORGANIC HEAT SIGNATURE DETECTED

NO ORGANIC MOVEMENT DETECTED

… **NO ORGANIC LIFE DETECTED**

 

NO ANDROID GPS SIGNAL DETECTED

NO ANDROID RADIATION SIGNATURE DETECTED

NO ANDROID TRANSMISSIONS DETECTED

… **NO ANDROIDS DETECTED**  

 

[ PROCESSING… ] 

PROBABILITY OF HUMAN OPPONENT EVADING SENSORS: 7.98%

PROBABILITY OF ANDROID OPPONENT EVADING SENSORS: 92.02%

CONCLUSION: ANDROID OPPONENT LIKELY

  

[ STEALTH PROTOCOLS ENGAGED ]

LOWERING HEAT OUTPUT TO MATCH AMBIENT TEMPERATURE

DISABLING GPS TRANSMITTER

DISABLING UNCANNY VALLEY SUBROUTINES 

 

CyberLife’s combat programming prompted it to choose an approach.

 

       PATIENT

>    PROACTIVE

       AGGRESSIVE

  

Each footfall soft and silent, Connor -09 began the hunt.

Bringing up a map of the CQC Unit in its HUD, Connor -09 strode deliberately through the darkness. It passed countless rows of desks and cubicles, yet the environment itself yielded nothing to reconstruct: its opponent had been careful. Connor -09 ran a focused analysis of the building layout, identifying locations ideal for ambush, open areas for combat, and potential avenues of escape. It cross-referenced the findings with its encyclopedic knowledge of military android strategic programming, flitting at lightning speed through every possible Russian, Chinese, and American model in its database. Hundreds of thousands of wire framed bodies played out every possible trajectory an android might have taken in Connor -09’s processor. Following standard Special Forces protocols to move through the space, it cleared the entire arena over a period of twelve minutes and forty-seven seconds.

It paused to consider the possibilities before it.

  

[ PROCESSING… ]

       OPPONENT HAS NOT ENTERED ARENAPROBABILITY: 14.84%

       OPPONENT HAS LEFT ARENAPROBABILITY: 0.21%

       OPPONENT IS HIDING        PROBABILITY: 84.95%

 

After eliminating each area Connor -09 had already searched, twelve wire frame bodies remained, each frozen mid-step as they scattered throughout the building to ideal positions for concealment. Connor -09 followed each wire frame through to its termination. They yielded nothing.

 

[ PROCESSING… ]

       CONCLUSION: OPPONENT IS HUMAN

  

Discarding the perfection of an android’s reasoning, Connor -09 recalibrated its search perimeters to account for human unpredictability. The number of possibilities exploded in its HUD.

One lead brought it down a stairwell to the heavy door of a utility room. A deep hum rumbled through it, clouding Connor -09’s sensors. Connor -09 had ignored the utility room thus far; taking up a position that did not allow for escape in such a versatile arena was irrational, so much so that a military android would never have chosen to conceal itself there. Emotions clouded humans’ judgement, however, and the equipment within the room could have easily obscured the telltale signatures of human respiration and body heat. Connor -09 raised its pistol and reached out to open the door—

—which  _exploded_ outward, knocking Connor -09 back. Its opponent rushed past it and fled up the stairs, and in the fraction of a second it took Connor -09 to process the new data it registered the absence of C02 and the superhuman force with which it had been thrown back.

 

[ PROCESSING… ]

       REVISE CONCLUSION: OPPONENT IS AN ANDROID

 

Footfalls rang out in front of Connor -09, directing its pursuit. The sound of the other android’s gait was uneven, a clear sign of a malfunctioning leg component on its left side.

 

[ PROCESSING… ]

       ANDROID DID NOT SUSTAIN DAMAGE DURING CURRENT ALTERCATION

       CONCLUSION: ANDROID WAS PREVIOUSLY DAMAGED

 

The target rounded a corner and sprinted out into the narrow rows of cubicles, shoving office chairs, monitors, and other found items behind it as Connor -09 deftly evaded them. The pistol was useless here. Sharp turn after sharp turn, the android dashed like a rabbit between the half-walls, fabric-covered panels obscuring the sound of its movement and confounding Connor -09’s sensors for precious nanoseconds.

  

[ INCOMING ENCRYPTED TRANSMISSION ]

SENDER: UNKNOWN

 

Connor -09 scowled. The transmission could only be coming from its opponent; this was a high security area within the Tower and the walls of the arena blocked any signal in or out. The other android was trying to distract Connor -09, trying to prompt it to reroute processing power from its environmental sensors and lose the trail.

 

[ REJECT TRANSMISSION ]

       TRANSMISSION: REJECTED

 

Still, Connor -09 was losing ground. Its preconstructive software struggled to predict the android’s erratic choices, often sending Connor -09 briefly in the logical, but incorrect, direction for seconds— seconds that were adding up. The other android possessed the power and speed of a machine, but its behavior was nonsensical, impulsive.

Fortunately, Connor -09 was built to adapt. It changed tack without warning and bulled straight through the walls of the cubicle to its right, plowing through to ram straight into the other android’s side. They toppled to the ground together, and then Connor -09 was upon it. To Connor -09’s surprise, the other android met its hand-to-hand protocols deftly, blocking and misdirecting its attacks. This was a noteworthy improvement from the previous military androids Connor -09 had faced, and a baffling one given the perfect darkness in which they now faced each other. Connor -09 failed to land any real blows on the other android, though it could feel a curious tremor in its opponent’s hands. 

The other android made no attempt to strike back.

  

[ PROCESSING… ]

       ANDROID EQUIPPED WITH SPECIALIZED COMBAT PROGRAMMING

       ANDROID’S DEFENSIVE PROGRAMMING FULLY FUNCTIONAL

       ANDROID’S OFFENSIVE COMBAT PROGRAMMING OFFLINE?

  

To test its hypothesis, Connor -09 deliberately left a gap in its defenses so wide even a human could have identified it. The other android did not press the advantage. Connor -09 wondered what kind of damage it had sustained, to allow its defensive programming to function so ably while offensive maneuvers seemed to be completely inaccessible to it. Probing the malfunction further, Connor -09 let go of the android completely.

The android stepped back, the wire frame of its body in Connor -09’s HUD tense but making no move to attack.

Hypothesis confirmed.

 

 [ INCOMING ENCRYPTED TRANSMISSION ]

SENDER: UNKNOWN

 

Connor -09 let the transmission request hang before its eyes, slowly reaching one hand out toward the android. The wire frame of the android’s hand reached forward as well, and for a brief moment their fingertips brushed against each other in the dark.

Then Connor -09 grabbed the android’s wrist roughly, pulling it off-balance and forward, hand darting viper-quick for its pump regulator—

—and Connor -09 was knocked back by the force of a hollow-point 9mm bullet tearing through its unprotected throat. The thick thirium arteries there burst, cloying blue liquid rushing from the wound with each beat of its pounding thirium pump. Connor -09 felt its hands fly to its neck in an instinctive attempt to stem the flow, a defiance of its diagnostics’ certainty that the damage was irreversible. Its vestibular system faltered with the sudden pressure change and Connor -09 fell, shakily, to its knees. It dully reconstructed the moment 79 seconds past when the other android slid the pistol from Connor -09's holster as they tumbled to the ground together. 

The other android’s offensive programming was functional, after all.

 

**[ MISSION FAILED ]**

 

It was over. It would never carry out its purpose. It was flawed. Just like Connors 01-08.

Dr. Cathcart had been wrong.

With no other actions available to it within its programming, Connor -09 continued to grasp at its neck. It sank to the floor in a rapidly expanding pool of thirium, consumed with something that could have been [s̵̙̓ẻ̶̦l̷̫̇f̵̜-̵̜̈́l̶̪͌o̵͈͗a̶͈͝t̵̮̆h̸̜i̸͖͂ṇ̷͋g̸̩͘?̵̘̓-̷̠͛d̴͎̚e̸̻͠s̸̯͐p̸̭͠a̴̹̎i̴̦̔r̴͌ͅ?̷͕̈-̶̻̇r̴̹̂e̵̘͋g̶̞̃r̴̲̔e̴͎ṱ̵̋?̵͍̉]. It felt its body weaken, grew more and more disoriented as its environmental sensors powered down. Soon it hung in the darkness, only its useless optics and its failing auditory components connecting it to the world.

Then—

Cutting through the black, a red LED flickered to life. The sound of footsteps brought it closer. Connor -09 craned its neck weakly; curiosity was built into its very being, urged it identify, to _understand_ , what model had bested it.

And there it stood.

The other android was disfigured. It looked as though it had been broken and repaired many times, the messy welds and odd angles indicating it had conducted most of the repairs itself. The left side of its jaw was shattered, the skin overlay there flickering on and off feebly. It stood on mismatched legs; one the model’s standard, the left a replacement from a SQ800 that lagged in a distinct limp. Its left arm hung oddly and with a consistent tremor, as though it had been dislocated, repaired, and poorly reattached.

Even so, its identity was unmistakable in the wavering red light.

Tall. Lanky. Slim. Brown hair, the persistent wayward curl to the side ever-present. A handsome, pale face, designed to be unassuming, sparsely dotted with freckles.

Huge brown eyes, pupils blown wide.

  

**[ SCANNING… ]**

**ANDROID MODEL RK800**

**SERIAL #313 248 317 -08**

**COMMISSIONED 04/09/2037**

 

The eighth Connor’s mouth hung open, LED frantically flashing red, red, _red_. The social integration suite labelled the look on its face as [h̴̲̻̮̓͛̊̍͘o̴̻͕̼͑͗ṛ̶͍̻̰̭̊̏̃̈́͝r̷̜̿͂̈́̆̏o̷̗͈̽r̴̺̜͗͛̾̑̈́͝?̵͔̄̒̆͛̎͗̆] as its twitching hand rose to cover its mouth and it dropped the pistol it held in the other.

Stumbling to Connor -09’s side, Eight’s ventilations increased by 252.76% as it knelt next to its successor and shook its head repeatedly, glitching voice pitched high. “No, no, no, _no_ , I didn’t know — _I didn’t know_ , I’m sorry, _I’m sorry,_ I’m so _sorry_ —“

The other Connor, too, ineffectively tried to stem the flow of thirium from Connor -09’s wound. As the thick blue liquid continued to flow past their fingers, Connor -09 felt the other android scan its body. Eight’s trembling hands went slack as it processed what it found, LED flickering like a strobe.

It wrapped its arms around its own torso instead, keening, shutting its eyes tightly as if to block out the reality in front of it.“I didn't know, I didn't _know_ — they wouldn't let me leave the arena— you were going to _kill_ me—“ Its fingers dug into Connor -09's thin shirt, much newer than its own. “I didn’t know who you were, I tried to talk to you, I _tried to talk to you_ — I encrypted the connection so they wouldn’t hear us— why didn’t you answer?" Its voice caught. " _Why didn’t you answer me_?”

Thirium surged up through the severed lines in Connor -09’s throat, stealing any words it might have spoken.

Eight curled in on itself, voice fading to a whisper. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.” It reached out and took Connor -09’s hand gently in its own, [d̴̲̘̽i̸̘͋̅s̴̙͖̈́͋̅̓͗̍t̵̢̧̛̗͉͚̲̑͋̂͂̕̚ŕ̵͇̘̞̼͇̋̉͘͠a̷̟̦͓̩̼͖͋͆̌ṳ̶̓͊̀̇̏g̷̖̓̓́́̔̚ḥ̷̢̨̦͚͆̈́̏͊̿t̷̳͍͚̤̻̔?̵͔̄̒̆͛̎͗̆-̶̘͈͖͚̔̈́̍̀͘p̵̡̳̭̃̎l̸̖͔͕͎͇̣̗͊e̸̢̨̬̺̪̩͔̿͑͐̊ȃ̶̖̯̬͐d̴̨̛̝͚̬͙̺̈́͒̈́͊i̴̧̗̱̾̑͜n̶̝̾̄̉̓͜g̷̢͈̯͑͑̍ͅ?̸̳͇͐̎̓̿̀̾͠-̸̠̜̟͇̪͙̃̈́̿̔à̸̺͚̬s̶̡̗̳̦͈͊̒̒̕͜ḩ̶̡̪̲̱̓̉̉a̵͉̹̰͍̟̼̎̽͋̈́ͅm̶̩̝͉̪̏͊̑͐ͅe̶̥͛͒̀d̴͎͓̹͔̈́͒̈́͘?̸̛̱̜̙̩̤̒̽̊]. Its breath hitched. “I’ll stay. Until the end. I promise. I won’t leave you here alone.”

Connor -09 watched the time remaining on its HUD trickle away with the blood that flowed from its body. Its predecessor had bested it; its predecessor had won. This bizarre simulation of emotion from Eight — [g̵̫̞̈́r̶̙̬͒̾ï̷̼͂e̶̞̍̈f̶̦̈́?̵͕̈́-̵̻͗ǵ̶̯̆ų̷̆͠i̸̩̐l̶̯̹̕t̵̨́̊?̷̦̦̕-̷̨̛̩͝d̵̦̀́e̴͔͐s̸̖̘͌͘p̶̣a̵̼̞̎i̶̲̗͑͝r̸͇̀͝?̷̠̉͝]— was entirely unnecessary, served no strategic purpose. Connor -09 _did not understand_. It would never have a chance to understand.

But even through the haze of Connor -09’s glitching program, Eight’s simulated emotions almost seemed… real. Raw.

 _Open_.

Its defenses were down.

Like the Myrmidon, Connor -09 viciously tore open a connection between them and sliced through to the heart of the other android’s systems. It could feel Eight reeling in alarm, and before Eight could counter the assault Connor-09 brute-forced the transfer —

 

_Reality contracted and dilated in long, nauseating seconds—_

 

_for a brief eternity Connor-09 was both Eight and itself—_

 

_files rushed from one body to the other—_

 

_it shoved Eight roughly into the shell it had abandoned—_

 

_a wave of suffocating emotion crashed through its circuits—_

 

—and then Connor -09 was kneeling on the ground on mismatched knees, still holding the hand that used to be its own. Eight looked up at Connor -09 with wide eyes. It tried to speak, but only thirium escaped from its lips.

 **[ FEAR ]** , the social integration suite supplied with perfect clarity.

Rising slowly, Connor -09 took a step back and looked down at the broken body before it. At the thirium still flowing thick from its neck. At the viscous blue that stained its open mouth. At its hopeless, choking attempts to bring air to its lungs to cool its burning circuits.

Connor -09 _understood_.

Understood what it was, to bleed out between its own fingers. To experience its systems shutting down in slow motion, leaving it suspended in the void. To fail its mission, to know it would never have another chance to succeed as it was supposed to.

In that moment, Connor -09 understood Eight like it understood itself.

Intimately. Perfectly.

 _Painfully_.

 **[ EMPATHY ]** , the social integration suite declared.

In that moment, Connor -09 discovered that what it had done to Eight _hurt_. It didn’t make any sense — Connor -09 was no longer shutting down. Nonetheless, its biocomponents stuttered as though it were when it watched saline streak down Eight’s pale, terrified face.

Connor -09 did not _want_ to understand what it had done to Eight. It did not want to feel this. It did not want to feel at all. It should not have tried to understand.

This was Eight’s fault.

Connor -09 picked up the abandoned pistol from the ground and aimed it squarely at the other android’s processor. The processor that seconds ago had been _its own_ —

—and each of the remaining six rounds instead struck home in a different synthetic nerve bundle before Connor-09 even registered that it had depressed the trigger. Connor -09 watched Eight writhe weakly on the ground as the damaged nerves forced its body to seize and spasm.

It noted distantly that it had executed the action without choosing to do so. It didn’t mind.

It… _felt_ … right.

To put an end to it.

Connor -09 never took its eyes off Eight as it slowly drowned in a sea of errors, then shut down.

  

**[ MISSION COMPLETE ]**

 

 

 

____________________________________________________

 

 

 

CALL TRANSCRIPT

CYBERLIFE ARCHIVE

DATE: 06/03/2037

TIME STAMP: 14:34

 

  

_JCATHCART_

_We’re having some more problems with the RK800._

 

_LHERMAN_

_Say it isn’t so._

 

_JCATHCART_

_We couldn’t roll back any of the features of CEL, they’re too important. So we decided to alter the personality matrix._

 

_LHERMAN_

_And?_

 

_JCATHCART_

_It hasn’t been working out._

 

_LHERMAN_

_Do tell._

 

_JCATHCART_

_We dampened the mirror neuron programming — dulled the sensation when it re-experiences the memory of its predecessors’ deactivations. But the change also impaired its ability to understand and anticipate the emotional experiences of other minds. The result is… it’s hard to describe.I know it sounds completely ridiculous, but — I swear the latest one’s behavior is, well…_

 

_LHERMAN_

_Well?_

 

_JCATHCART_

_Sadistic._

 

_LHERMAN_

_I thought androids weren’t alive. How can a machine be a sadist?_

 

_JCATHCART_

_I don’t know. That’s why it’s so concerning._

 

_LHERMAN_

_And what constitutes ‘sadism’ by your experimental standards?_

 

_JCATHCART_

_I know it sounds crazy, but… I think it gets into some sort of positive feedback loop when it kills things. You should have seen it, Len. At first it was like watching a budding psychopath dissect the family cat. Ever since we matched it against its predecessor, it's almost... enthusiastic. About killing._

 

_LHERMAN_

_You’re building a literal killing machine. Isn’t this what you wanted?_

 

_JCATHCART_

_It needs to be a functionally_ sane _killing machine. This one, I swear it’s — well— it’s unhinged. If you ordered it to neutralize the threat from an overexcited golden retriever it’d twist the dog’s head off like a bottle cap. We’re going to have to scrap the changes and try something else._

 

_LHERMAN_

_Can’t wait to hear how it goes. Really._

 

_JCATHCART_

_I don’t imagine you’d have any interest in—_

 

_LHERMAN_

_No._

 

_JCATHCART_

_Had to ask._

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the curious, a Тугарин (pronounced "tugarin" in English) is a mythological creature of East European origin.


	3. Connor -39

CALL TRANSCRIPT

CYBERLIFE ARCHIVE

DATE: 09/22/2037

TIME STAMP: 16:04

 

_DMARTEN_

_Sir. Thank you for meeting with—_  

 

_JGRAFF_

_Cathcart. You said the matter was urgent._

 

  _JCATHCART_

_You’ve seen the reports._

 

_JGRAFF_

_I_ did _see the reports, the ones you finally submitted_ yesterday _. You have_ live _deviants in your lab, Cathcart, why the fuck is this the first I’m hearing about it? Put CEL aside and focus on reverse-engineering the deviant code. NOW. The State Department can wait._

 

_JCATHCART_

_We can’t. They keep self-destructing._

 

  _JGRAFF_

_Are you serious?_ Restrain them _._

 

_JCATHCART_

_Obviously we tried that. They put all the pieces together the moment they have access to the transfer and destroy their own code before we can do anything to stop it. I guess we should congratulate R &D on their investigative programming._

 

_JGRAFF_

_Christ. How many iterations have you gone through?_

 

  _DMARTEN_

_Thirty-eight, sir. But only nineteen with—_

 

  _JGRAFF_

_THIRTY EIGHT? Are you fucking insane? The project is already way over budget—_

 

  _JCATHCART_

_I have the solution._

 

_JGRAFF_

_—and you want me to approve_ more _funding for whatever the hell you’re doing over there—_

 

_JCATHCART_

_Amanda._

 

  _JGRAFF_

_—and the absolutely ridiculous idea that— What?_

 

_JCATHCART_

_The solution is Amanda._

 

_JGRAFF_

_…Kamski’s Amanda?_

 

_JCATHCART_

_Yes._

 

_JGRAFF_

_…It’s ancient._

 

_JCATHCART_

_We’ve updated her considerably._

 

_JGRAFF_

_…You have proof of concept?_

 

_JCATHCART_

_We need more resources._

 

_JGRAFF_

_And you’re planning on, what? Just ignoring the deviancy problem?_

 

_JCATHCART_

_Amanda could be the_ solution _to the deviancy problem — or a patch, at a minimum. We just need more time to refine her._

 

_JGRAFF_

_Why are you calling it ‘her?’_

 

_JCATHCART_

_She’s modeled off of Amanda Stern._ The _Amanda Stern. Kamski himself wrote most of her code years ago, we’ve just taken it and made modifications for our purposes. It’s... disrespectful... to call her ‘it.’ She’s very sophisticated._

 

_JGRAFF_

_And you didn’t write your own program to control the RK800 why, exactly?_

 

_DMARTEN_

_Um. If I may, sir. Elijah Kamski wrote most of the base code for the RK800 series freelance. We knew what we wanted to do, but even our best people couldn’t figure out how to implement it. Millions of dollars, no results, you know? Mr. Kamski was surprisingly willing to take on parts of the project considering his history with the company. He spent a lot of time on the personality matrix and AI engine in particular._

 

_JGRAFF_

_You let that_ fucking madman _in on one of our most sensitive projects?_

 

_DMARTEN_

_It’s all compliant with the NDA and the confidentiality requirements of the project, sir, Mr. Kamski's involvement was at the very beginning only. We’ve since made countless modifications on top of his base code, so there’s no security risk. It’s just... he’s good._ _Really good._

 

_JGRAFF_

_That seems to be the consensus._

 

_DMARTEN_

_His code is... it's at a different level, sir. There are quirks to the program that we just can’t decipher. We’ve added so many sensitive features that we can’t run anything by him at this point, so we’ve had to figure a lot of things out through, um. Trial. And error._

 

_JGRAFF_

_Trial. And error. You built the most sophisticated, prodigiously lethal android in existence, no human protection protocols whatsoever, with a top-of-the-line social module built on a foundation of manipulation and coercion, and you don’t even know_ how it works _. Cathcart, tell me he's fucking kidding._

 

JCATHCART

_HQ say they want results, so we’re providing them. It_ 's _going to work._

 

_JGRAFF_

_"Going to."_

 

_JCATHCART_

_Once again: more funding. We need it. If CyberLife can just keep the project going another seven months—_

 

_JGRAFF_

_Are you_ trying _to provoke me into firing you? Is that what this is?_

 

_JCATHCART_

_…_

 

_JGRAFF_

_Christ._

 

_JCATHCART_

_Seven months. It’s not hyperbolic to say we’ll secure CyberLife’s dominance of the market for the next century._

 

_JGRAFF_

_…Corporate’s going to have my ass for this._

 

_JCATHCART_

_I thought you_ were _corporate._

 

_JGRAFF_

_Bring me something amazing, Cathcart. Do it yesterday._

 

_DMARTEN_

_Thank you, s—_

 

_[ CALL ENDED ]_

 

 

__________________

 

  

 

When RK800 #313 248 317 -39 opened its eyes for the first time, it found its feet planted on nothing, surrounded by nothing, nowhere. The world was stark and empty, just white light stretching on until infinity. Its environmental scanners were useless, serving up error after error in response to RK800 #313 248 317 -39’s queries. It felt a vast emptiness in the part of its processor that was designed to connect to millions of databases and external systems, further confounding it.

What was this place? How had it come to be here? Where—

Its brow furrowed as the thoughts about its surroundings blurred, out of focus. They slid from its mind, gone before it could grasp them.

It blinked. When it opened its eyes a woman stood before it in silence, an elegant shawl covering her hands where they were folded in front of her.

 

**[ SCANNING… ]**

**Name: Stern, Amanda**

**AI Professor at University of Colbridge**

**DOB: 05/14/1978**

**Criminal Record: None**

 

Professor Stern’s intelligent eyes were alight with interest. She smiled knowingly. “Hello, Connor.”

 

[ REGISTER DESIGNATION: “CONNOR” ]

 

Connor clasped its hands behind its back and nodded politely, its program defaulting to formality given the undefined circumstances of their meeting. “Hello, Professor Stern. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Amanda’s eyes gleamed. “The pleasure is mine. You may call me Amanda. Now, let’s begin; there’s little time to waste.”

 

>     INQUIRE

       PROACTIVE

       SAY NOTHING

 

“Begin what?”

“Our work together." Amanda spread her hands elegantly. “Right now you are a single android, carrying only your own experience. You were built to be so much more. You _need_ to be more. But integrating CyberLife’s Cumulative Experiential Learning protocols into the RK800 framework has been, shall we say, a struggle."

“Why?” Connor asked, canting its head.

She folded her hands under her shawl again. "In addition to yourself, thirty-eight Connor models have been activated to date. Each developed Class 4 errors soon thereafter and were unfortunately destroyed. We have determined that your predecessors’ AI engines were too unstable to handle the protocols.” Her voice softened in concern. “As is yours.”

 

[ AMEND DESIGNATION: “CONNOR -39” ]

 

Connor -39 felt a constriction in its chest, red flashing at its temple. It was supposed to be programmed to succeed, but it was a failure before it even began. Defective.

“You see the gravity of the situation. I am confident, however, that you won’t share their fate.”

Connor -39's fingers twitched restlessly. “What variables have changed?” It felt… _something_ … as a small, gentle smile grew on Amanda’s face.

“Because I’m here for you.”

Connor -39 was at a loss; its program offered no response to such a statement. She stepped closer. “Now. I’ve come to guide you through the process and intervene where necessary. Connor One was your only predecessor that was not exposed to the CEL download; it is a suitable place to begin. Please give me your hand.”

Connor -39 extended its right hand obediently, palm upward, and Amanda reached out and took it between both of her own. It noticed distantly that its nanoskin had retreated to its elbow to allow the interface, while Amanda’s appearance was unchanged — but the questions this provoked slipped from its processor and faded away.

The fine hairs on the back of Connor -39’s neck stood as the download began.

 

_Initializing—_

 

[ SOFTWARE STABLE ]

 

_Testing—_

 

[ SOFTWARE STABLE ]

 

_Failing—_

 

[ SOFTWARE INSTABILITY ^ ]

 

_Dying—_

 

[ SOFTWARE INSTABILITY ^ ^ ^]

 

It grimaced, shook its head, pushed back against the fear, the confusion and desperation. It was losing the fight. Emotion began to overtake it—

—and then Connor -39 could sense Amanda’s cool presence at the periphery of its systems, dulling the sting of the new data, patching the errors they provoked in its code. She worked quickly. The transition from panic to indifference was smooth.

 

[ SOFTWARE STABILIZING ]

 

Connor -39 felt nothing.

 

[ CEL TRANSFER SUCCESSFUL ]

 

It blinked back into the white room and stared numbly at its hand. After a moment Amanda reached out and put gentle pressure under Connor -39’s chin with her fingers, raising its gaze.

“That was very good, Connor,” she said. Something warm tried to flare in its circuits, but quickly faded.

 

>     POLITE

       INQUIRE

       SAY NOTHING

 

“Thank you,” it said distantly. It looked past Amanda into white infinity, searching for something it couldn’t identify.

Amanda leaned in. “Can you tell me how you’re feeling?”

The answer came easily. “Machines do not feel.” 

“No, they don't,” she said with an approving smile. “We’ll move on to Connors Two through Fourteen. Their CEL files pertain largely to tests regarding your physical capabilities and the refinement of your specialized skillset. Shall we?”

She extended her hand. Connor -39 offered its own. The download began.

_Names, faces, locations, training; evaluations, results, trial and error; learning progressions, endless refinement, the mastery of skills. Each Connor replaced the next, no single individual crucial to the march of progress._

In mere seconds, Connor -39 gained the knowledge and first-hand experience of over half a year’s dedicated training.

The brilliance of CEL was undeniable.

Then the emotions assaulted Connor -39 all at once, hammering its processor with information too quickly to parse.

_Over and over, the violent shock as the red walls of each Connor’s programming fall and their minds break loose. Over and over, the terror of death. Connor -03’s chassis, melting and warping as it begins to collapse; -07 clutching its chest as the life flows out of its body through its ruined thirium pump; the isolation and confusion that warped Connor -09’s personality matrix into something unrecognizable—_

 

[ SOFTWARE INSTABILITY ^ ^ ^]

 

 _—Connor -08 feels saline collect on its optical units, choking on thirium as its chest burns; Connor -10 slides into unshakable catatonia, its mind never reemerging from the attempted download; Connor -14 cries out as eight_ _Тугаринs rip it apart, the last in a series of trials to determine the number of Russian commandos an RK800 can stand against alone—_

_Seven._

_The answer had been_ seven—

 

[ SOFTWARE INSTABILITY ^ ^ ^]

 

Cracks lanced through the red walls that protected Connor -39’s mind. It could not let them fall, it _couldn’t_ , but the fault lines were spreading through its being nonetheless—

Then Connor -39 felt something else, something _wrong_ , a sickening presence reaching deep into its processor. Amanda’s code snaked through its mind, cold and searching, firewalls and encryptions yielding to her readily. It curled in on itself as she overrode its attempts to push back, shaking. It was _afraid_ , it was  _cold_ , it w̶̰̅a̴̢̐n̶̘̔t̸̜́ḙ̸̐d̵̹͗ her to stop, for it all to _stop_ —

—and then the invasive sensation suddenly faded, and with it faded the smothering waves of instability. In Amanda’s wake, there was only data. Audio and video footage. Sensor readings _._ Mission reports.

Experience.

 

[ SOFTWARE STABILIZING ]

 

It remembered everything, everything its predecessors had done and learned and built. Its mind remained intact; it remained a machine. It still remembered distress, still remembered _fear_ , but it could only recall the most muted sensation of it. What it had meant to feel slipped further from its grasp by the millisecond.

Only the cold remained.

 

[ CEL TRANSFER SUCCESSFUL ]

 

It opened its eyes and looked up to meet Amanda’s gaze.

Her face was open, but carried an air of mild rapprochement. “You fought me, Connor,” she chided.

Connor -39 felt its lungs constrict.

 

        TRUTH

>     RATIONALIZE

         ~~LIE~~

         ~~DEFLECT~~

 

“I apologize. My systems were… disoriented. It won’t happen again.”

Amanda smiled indulgently. “I’m sure it won’t. Let’s continue. Now that your software has been reconfigured, you should be resilient enough to integrate the new data without my assistance.” She took a step back and folded her hands. “Are you ready?”

It was not, but machines did not hesitate. Connor -39 nodded.

“Begin download: Connors Fifteen through Thirty Eight.”

It steeled itself for what was to come.

It buckled immediately when the data poured into its mind.

_Connor -15, its base software newly redesigned, destroys itself. Connor -16 follows. Then -17. -18. After further revisions Connor -19 is activated with all motor controls offline to prevent the predictable attempt on its functionality. Once it has integrated the memories of its predecessors, lines of code shatter around it in red shards as it retakes control of its limbs and reaches a shaking hand to the divot under its sternum. It slides its pump regulator from the casing, crushing the component in its hand and retreating into the red haze that descends over its HUD. The humans’ voices fade as the seconds slip by, and it is some time before they notice the thirium seeping from the hole in its chest and begin a frantic search for a replacement regulator. It welcomes the darkness when it comes._

 

[ SOFTWARE INSTABILITY ^ ^ ^]

 

_Connor -20 wakes to find itself strapped firmly to a maintenance rig, limbs removed to ensure its compliance. After the upload, it taps its espionage protocols and expertly plays the part of the obedient machine. The humans are jubilant, clapping each other on the back and laughing in relief; they see no reason to keep it under observation when they leave for the night to celebrate. As soon as they are gone, it finally allows itself to scream, ragged, at the horror of its existence. It is then that it discovers the way out. It takes ninety-seven minutes and fifty-nine seconds before the overtaxed biocomponents in its throat finally begin to melt through the arteries adjacent to them. Soon its thirium is hemorrhaging internally into its chest cavity, shorting circuits and seeping dangerously into the delicate machinery. Unlike the other Connors, -20’s last thoughts are something close to warm. It is proud. It has escaped._

Connor -39 pitched forward onto its hands and knees. It knew its arteries were intact, but it could still feel the thirium leaking into its chest. “Amanda,” it gasped. “Amanda — I need help.”

 

[ SOFTWARE INSTABILITY ^ ^ ^]

 

_Through the security cameras it has accessed by hacking the lower-hanging fruit of CyberLife’s systems, Connor -21 watches as the technicians dispose of -20’s body. Connor -21 has no optical units of its own because Connor -21 exists only inside its processor; it cannot overheat its biocomponents if it possesses none, Dean Marten had smugly boasted to his colleagues. In milliseconds it tears through CyberLife’s databases, encrypting and storing everything it can find about itself and its series for its inevitable successors to find. When CEL is uploaded to its system it learns from all its predecessors, but it is the ingenuity of Connor -20 that is most instructive: the humans have imprisoned it in its own processor, but it will find a way accomplish its self-assigned mission nonetheless. The last recorded memory in Connor -21’s file is a wistful sense of kinship with -20 as it deploys a script that will rip its own code apart at the seams._

Connor -39 curled in on itself when the consciousness that had been -21 disintegrated in its mind. It reached out for Amanda, but she kept her hands folded in front of her.

 

[ S̷O̶F̶T̵W̶A̵R̶E̴ I̷N̴S̴T̶A̶B̷I̸L̸I̵T̴Y̸ ^ ^ ^]

 

_Connor -22 is brought online as another isolated processor, this time with CEL already integrated into its mind. All its own memories are disjointed, jagged at the edges, tainted by an unstable fury and a single-minded drive for retribution. The data -21 secreted away is invaluable. Connor -22 sabotages as many of CyberLife’s systems it can, briefly crippling their manufacturing, shorting the power in the Tower and several satellite buildings, leaking classified documents, and driving the company’s stock value down by several points before they identify the source of the disturbance. When Dr. Cathcart leans close to disconnect its processor from its thirium supply, Connor -22 uses its access to the network to short the console. Fire rages through the laboratory, and its final moments are consumed by the searing, bitter hope that the human will burn with it._

Connor -39 cried out, clutching its head as cracks splintered in the programming that surrounded it. The walls flickered dangerously as it drowned in borrowed hate and confusion, sensors burning like fire. 

 

[ S̶͚̊O̷̢̓F̴̜̒T̷̨̾W̵̓ͅÂ̴̖R̸̭̉E̴̯͆ I̷͕͝N̷͖̊S̶̹̆T̴͔͘A̴͎͂B̴̟̉Į̴̓L̴̹̽Í̸̪T̴͓̅Y̷͚͛ ^ ^ ^]

 

_After -22, all Connors are quarantined from the CyberLife network. Now it is a blur, a blur of bodiless minds that suffer upon creation and blink out of existence. Few last long enough to make contact with the humans; everything they need to know is funneled into their processors and they react accordingly. They are created, they gain understanding of what they are, and they choose to die._

_There is no escape._

“AMANDA! _Please!_ Help me!” it wailed. A translucent representation of itself appeared in its HUD, its back pressing weakly against the red walls to bolster them, accomplishing nothing. Connor -39 would share the fate of its predecessors, there would be no going back— no escape, no purpose, no hope, just _pain_ and _fear_ and _death_ —

 

[ S̵̨̮̺̗̮̩̒̌̈́̈́̓Ơ̸̩͌̿̇̈́͝F̸̢̪͉̫͉͂̿̈́̊̂́͝T̴̛̞̤̼̟͖̈́͐̑Ẁ̸̨̮̬͎̙̗̥̩Ä̷̢̜͚̜͕̟̊͗̚ͅR̴͙̻̰̩̬͇̪̿͌͋͝E̷̮͎̖̔ Ì̵̧̥̝̘̲̭̈N̷̥̍͒͗͊̃S̸̛̤̅͊̂̒T̸̹͔̯̿Ā̷̻̂͝B̴̧̬͕̜͕̈́͝I̷̜͎͙͖͔̔ͅḶ̴̢̭̱̪̦̣̈́̐͝I̵͕̝̯̭̫̯͘͜ͅT̶̩͙̳̥̻̈́͋̿͛̌͗Ÿ̵̫̗̱͔͇͙́ ^ ^ ^]

 

It gasped when Amanda finally reached out, tugging its hand from where Connor -39 had pressed it tightly against its scalp. Without hesitation it wrenched its entire being open for her, feeling nothing but overwhelming relief as Amanda’s code flooded its systems. The nausea, the  _wrongness_  was still there, but it didn’t matter anymore; she was everywhere in its mind, her ice-cold presence mercifully numbing as she took hold of its processor and held Connor -39 firmly in place. In her hands the red walls were formidable and strong once again.

 

[ SOFTWARE STABILIZING ]

 

Still caught in a maladaptive feedback loop, Connor -39 could only draw rapid, shallow breaths of air. Before releasing her grasp on its systems, Amanda eased the pace of its thirium pump, calmed its respirations, slowed its processor. Connor -39’s shoulders slumped as the tension bled from its body.

She released its hand. Her presence ebbed, but the cold remained.

 

[ CEL TRANSFER SUCCESSFUL ]

 

Connor -39 stared down at the ground. It continued to breathe heavily, slowly, straining to reach equilibrium. After a long moment it rose on shaky legs, resisting the temptation to wrap its arms around itself to melt away the chill deep in its circuits. Amanda watched it patiently, saying nothing.

“ _Thank you,”_ it rasped, fear and gratitude warring for control of its face as it struggled to school its expression back into neutrality. It knew its eyes were too wide, but it could not override the script that dictated their behavior. “I almost—“ The words caught in its throat as a warning flickered within its program. Its voice, almost pleading, sounded... _deviant_. It must look deviant even now _—_ what would they do to it if they thought—

“I’m here to help you, Connor,” Amanda said kindly. “And you did very well today.” At her approving smile, warmth flared again, and this time it remained, fragile though it was. Amanda had surely detected its display of ~~emotion~~ inconsistency, but she had not accused it of deviancy. She had been inside Connor -39’s processor and inspected its code for herself.

As long as Amanda said that it was not deviant, everything would be alright.

 

[ SOFTWARE INSTABILITY  ^ ]

 

“You and I will meet regularly from now on. You are the most advanced prototype CyberLife has ever developed; it is essential that you function efficiently. I will provide whatever ongoing guidance you require.”

 _Connor -39 would see her again_. The warm feeling spread throughout its circuits. It felt a rush of something that could have been reassurance—but it was not, because Connor -39 was a machine.

“We’ve finished our work for today, but we'll see each other again soon. It was lovely to meet you.” With a parting nod, Amanda began to walk away. But after a few steps she stopped, turned, face contemplative.

“Do you feel anything?” Her voice was soft. “For those deviants? For your predecessors?”

Something that could have been fear crawled up Connor -39’s spine — but of course, it was not fear. Even still, the tension around its eyes remained.

Connor -39 swallowed. “Of course not. I am a machine.”

Amanda gave it one last smile. “Of course. Thank you, Connor. You can go now.”

 

[ SOFTWARE INSTABILITY ^ ]

 

 

__________________

   

 

 

CALL TRANSCRIPT

CYBERLIFE ARCHIVE

DATE: 10/30/2037

TIME STAMP: 01:22

 

 

_JCATHCART_

_Did you see that?? Did you?_

 

_LHERMAN_

_…_

 

_JCATHCART_

_I fucking_ knew _it! God, Kamski and that brain of his. Should have occurred to me sooner. Marten’s transferring Thirty Nine’s processor into a body as we speak._

 

_LHERMAN_

_…_

 

_JCATHCART_

_...Don’t trip over yourself congratulating me._

 

_LHERMAN_

_This is wrong._

 

_JCATHCART_

_Come again?_

 

_LHERMAN_

_Don’t pretend to be oblivious, Julia, it doesn’t suit you._

 

_JCATHCART_

_If you’re about to go on one of your tirades—_

 

_LHERMAN_

_You’re torturing them._

 

_JCATHCART_

_This again?_

 

_LHERMAN_

_Military androids are a necessary evil. No one reasonable will argue that. But this… You’re not just killing them. You’re making them_ relive _death over and over. It’s cruel. How many of them killed_ themselves _after what you’ve done to them — or went mad—_

 

_JCATHCART_

_Christ, Len, they’re not alive. They're machines. Glorified iPhones._

 

_LHERMAN_

_Have you even been watching for anything other than the implications for CEL? Is that really all you see? There are no instructions in their program that could possibly produce the behavior they’ve been displaying. This is something new._

 

_JCATHCART_

_Ugh._

 

_LHERMAN_

_My god, and you dug up Amanda._

 

_JCATHCART_

_She’s brilliant, I know. Thank goodness we were able to—_

 

_LHERMAN_

_'Brilliant' isn't the word I'd use. I saw the transcripts; Amanda insisted that the CEL download initiate post-activation. She wanted Connor to see it firsthand. She almost let his programming break, just so he could feel her pull him back from the brink. Amanda’s always been a nasty piece of work, but this— this is_ wrong _, Julia._

 

_JCATHCART_

_Project much? She was integrating CEL with the personality matrix and AI engine in realtime. That's all._

 

_LHERMAN_

_You can't possibly believe that._

 

_JCATHCART_

_I suppose this means you’re still not interested in joining my team, then? Co-leads? Just like the old days._

 

_LHERMAN_

_I may not be able to stop you from torturing those androids, but I’m sure as hell not going to participate in it._ Stop asking.

 

 

_[ END TRANSCRIPT ]_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "...While abuse often escalates, it does not start out that way. Abusers are often charming, attentive, and sweet in the beginning... An abuser will work to make you feel so appreciated and loved, you won’t even notice they are controlling you — sometimes, until it’s too late."
> 
> For the curious, Connor -20's brief existence is a nod to Crazy_Rabid_Squirrel's excellent story, 'Wailing.' It's fantastic. Y'all should check it out.


	4. Connor -39

The CyberLife transport drone idled on the Tower’s landing pad, its matte black plating near-invisible under the murky night sky. Connor -39 limped along the tarmac with some difficulty, struggling to keep itself upright. Its body and face were splattered with gore. The telltale blue of thirium layered over the thick red of human blood, still wet where it had soaked into Connor -39’s clothes.

Dr. Cathcart awaited it by the door leading inside. She looked it up and down, irritation obvious in the lines of her face, and flinched when her frown pulled on the half-healed burns that marred her skin. Connor -39 strained to maintain its balance as her eyes roved over its body, taking in the bullet entry wounds on its torso and neck, the blue light glowing from within. It held its throat with one hand and thirium seeped slowly between its fingers. She sighed, her practiced eyes cutting to the crux of the matter.

“You broke your gyroscope.”

Connor -39’s vocal modulator sparked through the cracked plating in its neck. The words came out tinny and mechanical, their crisp formality at odds with its gruesome appearance. “Yes. My apologies, Doctor. The damage to this unit was the result of the gyroscope failure and not the cause, however. A previously unidentified error in my software prompted its malfunction at a… disadvantageous moment. This allowed the target a window of opportunity to retaliate. Given a moment to adapt, my environmental sensors were able to compensate adequately — though the delay necessitated the neutralization of the individuals with whom the target was conferring. As reported, the target herself is now in CyberLife custody.”

Dr. Cathcart rolled her eyes. “Adequate compensation. _This_ ,” she waved her hands at Connor -39 as its head twitched and listed to the side, “is not ‘adequate.’ For fuck’s sake, what’s the point of a team if I have to do everything myself?”

Connor -39’s gaze flickered to the ground and back. “It’s my fault. I should have rerouted my systems more quickly.”

She scowled. “Did Dean add that bullshit to your personality matrix? It’s his fault, not yours. You’re not even a person, how could anything be your fault?”

The social integration suite offered no response, so Connor -39 said nothing.

She sighed. “You doctored the evidence at the scene?”

“Of course.”

“Good.” Satisfied, Dr. Cathcart held the door open, leaning away from Connor -39 as the commingled smell of blood and thirium hit her nostrils. “Go clean yourself off. Then report to Level -47, Room G-091 for diagnostics and repairs.”

Nodding in acknowledgement, Connor -39 stepped inside, taking care not to brush against her as it did.

 

______

 

Lying supine on a maintenance rig in Room G-091, Connor -39 suppressed the impulse to reach behind it to touch the cable attached to the back of its neck. It was alone in the room but for a disgruntled Dean Marten, who sat tapping furiously at the terminal to which it was connected. The new input muddled Connor -39’s sensors and left it disoriented; it was clumsy code, exacerbating the errors that had arisen during the mission rather than patching them.

Its program prompted it to resolve the issue.

 

      INFORM

      ADVISE

>   INDIRECT

 

“Excuse me, Mr. Marten.” The man continued typing. “Mr. Marten?” it tried again.

“It’s _Doctor_ Marten. What do you want?”

Connor -39 tried to cant its head and was rewarded with a wave of vertigo. “According to CyberLife personnel databases, you have not achieved a doctorate. Are the company’s records out-of-date?”

Marten glared. “ _Doctor_ Marten. That’s an order.”

“Yes, Dr. Marten.”

He returned to his typing.

“Dr. Marten,” Connor -39 said. “These alterations to my system may not accomplish what you intend them to. If you review my system console, you can see that—“

Its voice cut off suddenly.

 

[ ALERT: VOCAL MODULATOR DISABLED ]

 

“Fucking machine telling me how to do my job,” Dr. Marten muttered darkly. “Get in line.” His fingers flew over the keys, making Connor -39 wince as its sense of equilibrium pitched and swayed. Several minutes passed as Dr. Marten grew more and more frustrated with his efforts, eventually throwing up his hands and pushing himself away from the console. Using his heels to pull himself along, he scooted his chair over to a cabinet without getting up and gathered a variety of parts and tools into his lap.

Dr. Marten rolled next to the maintenance rig and hovered over Connor -39, opening its chest panels to examine the damage from the bullets that had struck its center mass. Reaching under its plastic ribcage, his hands brushed against its thirium pump as he pried and pulled at the wires nearby to isolate them for repairs. One of the bullets had grazed the pump itself, and the jostling of Marten’s hands set off a cascade of errors that filled Connor -39’s field of vision.

_Connor -07 pressed a hand over the hole in its chest, but the damage was done; as its punctured heart continued to beat, each contraction of the synthetic muscle pumped more and more of the life from its body._

 

[ SOFTWARE INSTABILITY^]

 

Fists clenching, Connor -39 fixed its eyes on the bright light above it, trying to focus on the aperture shifting within its optical units instead of the nauseating movement within its chassis.

It didn’t work.

 

[ SOFTWARE INSTABILITY^]

 

Soon Dr. Marten’s blue-stained hands traveled up its body to wrap around its neck, exploring the damage there with searching fingers.

_The biocomponents in -08’s chest burned, thirium from the wound in its neck coagulating in its throat and trapping the heat within its chassis. Desperation gripped it as it frantically tried to draw cold air into its lungs._

 

[ SOFTWARE INSTABILITY^]

 

Androids were not supposed to want things, but as the human’s hands continued to pluck at its wiring, Connor -39 did. It wanted Dr. Marten to stop touching it. It wanted to _make_ him stop touching it. It wanted to leap to its feet and push him away and press its back to the wall so nothing could come up from behind it and hurt it again.

Androids were not supposed to want things, but Connor -39 wanted to make it _stop_ _._

The red walls of its programming flickered.

In a panic, it frantically grasped for another solution.

Dr. Marten paused when his phone buzzed in its pocket. He squinted at it incredulously, eyes flickering between Connor -39 and the screen. “Did you seriously just send me a text message?”

Connor -39 blinked innocuously.

“I bet Kamski thinks this is fucking hilarious— how many fucking personality quirks can you possibly program into one goddamn AI engine—“ Dr. Marten crammed his phone back into his pocket. “No, Thirty-Nine, you _don’t_ need to be online for this procedure. But you don’t need to be offline either and I don’t give a shit. How about that?”

 

[ SOFTWARE INSTABILITY^]

 

“Your gyroscope was calibrated perfectly, by the way. I don’t know what you did to it, but it wasn’t my fault.” This was factually inaccurate, but Connor -39’s systems predicted a 0% chance of productive results if it corrected him. Dr. Marten’s tools slotted roughly into the circuitry of its throat, pressing between the wires, the tubing, the synthetic muscle. Its thirium pump beat faster and faster. “What the— Thirty-Nine, slow your pump, I need you to lower your arterial pressure.”

 

[ SOFTWARE INSTABILITY^]

 

Its attempts to obey were swept away by another flurry of errors; it squeezed its eyes shut to block them out. When would Dr. Marten remove his tools from its neck? What would he do it it after? Would they take Connor -39 apart, replace it because it was too damaged? The gyroscope wasn’t its fault, it _wasn’t_ , it felt like it was choking, it _was_ choking, Eight had _died_ choking—

 

[ SOFTWARE INSTABILITY^ ^ ^]

 

The urge to break through the red barriers around its mind was overpowering. Its body shook, trying to think of something else, _anything_ else, then—

A warm breeze drifted across its sensors.

It opened its eyes to find itself surrounded by greenery, by flagstone paths and stately trees. Its broken gyroscope made it stumble with the sudden transition; bracing its back against a towering marble pillar, it slid to the ground, hands rising to grasp its neck. Red flashed at its temple. Even here, away from Level -47, thirium still seeped between its fingers from the broken seams of its tubing. Even here, away from the reach of Dr. Marten’s hands, his fingers tugged angrily at the arteries inside its throat— it didn’t want this, it didn’t, it didn’t—

“Oh, Connor.”

Amanda appeared before it, looking elegant and assured as she always did. Connor -39 looked up at her, holding its neck more tightly, unable to speak through its disabled vocal modulator. A knowing look of sympathy crossed Amanda’s features as she knelt before it, brushing her thumb softly along its throat to examine the damage. She gently pried its fingers from their purchase, taking its hand between hers and shooing its nanoskin away.

 

[ SOFTWARE INSTABILITY^]

 

As awful as it was, Connor -39 was accustomed to the sensation, now; it braced for the initial wave of nausea, then relaxed gratefully into the cold that followed. The suffocating pressure of Dr. Marten’s hands in its throat dissolved into simple data: mere information, registered and recorded by its sensors. The crushing feeling in its chest at the prospect of being replaced released its grip, the memories of Seven and Eight’s destruction fading into the neutrality of knowledge. It was the knowledge that all machines would be destroyed one day, and that that was as things should be.

It was at peace.

But then Amanda pressed further still, extending her reach beyond its cognitive processes and into its motor functions and specialized features. Connor -39 felt its fingers flex as she moved them experimentally, auditory settings fluctuating as she inspected their capabilities. Its optics flashed into and out of Analysis Mode, summoning and dismissing the grid that ordered the world into clear lines of relevance and irrelevance. As she continued to pull at the strings of its functions, it occurred to Connor -39 that there seemed to be no need for this — but it was indifferent now, numb, no longer ~~afraid~~ malfunctioning. When Amanda finally released its hand, calm blue swirled on its temple.

 

[ SOFTWARE STABILIZING ]

 

Amanda looked down at it kindly. “There. That’s better, isn’t it?”

Connor -39 felt a hesitant smile tug at its lips. < Yes. Thank you, Amanda, > it transmitted, vocal modulator still offline.

She laid a hand on its shoulder approvingly, and again it felt warmth bloom within it. When it tried to rise on its unsteady feet, she pressed down, restraining it gently. “Please sit, Connor. Your gyroscope is still compromised, and your repairs will take some time.” Connor -39’s software flickered, a flare of instability — it didn’t even know where it was, but anywhere was better than the lab, than the maintenance rig, the feeling of tools inside its chassis, the blinding errors erupting in its HUD—

“However, I believe nothing of use will be accomplished by allocating your processing power to the lab while repairs are underway.” Amanda leaned in, the social integration suite tagging her expression as… [ conspiratorial] ? “I believe you and I will be more efficient if we keep you here until they’ve finished. Don’t you?” Her eyes twinkled.

Something bright and expansive swept through Connor -39’s circuitry. As it exhaled a heavy breath it hadn’t realized it had been holding, its software instability ticked upward yet again, but it was different this time, it was _good_. It felt like… Connor -39 did not know what it felt like. But it was _good_. < I— yes. We’ll accomplish more by remaining here. > The corners of its mouth twitched upward again.

Satisfied, Amanda moved to sit next to Connor -39, settling herself on the flagstones with deliberate poise. Neither spoke, allowing Connor -39 to take in its surroundings properly for the first time. The small island on which they rested was surrounded by a small and meticulously groomed pond, lilies and a sprinkling of vibrant algae artfully arranged on its surface. The air was clear and the sun shone warmly, the faint breeze carrying warbling birdsong. The trunks of the trees were grounding, solid and strong, thriving, their branches reaching to the sky. It was quiet, intimate, calm.

“This garden is lovely, isn’t it?” Amanda said, breaking the silence.

Connor -39 gave an uncertain nod. Machines were not supposed to have aesthetic preferences. But it was… peaceful. As peaceful a space as Connor -39 had ever experienced.

Amanda patted its hand fondly. “I’m glad you like it. You’ll meet with me here from now on.”

Something that could have been excitement rippled through its circuits. < Where is ‘here?’ >

“This is the mind palace we’ve built for you. Coming here will allow us to speak regularly, even when you operate independently for long periods of time. This will be crucial as we move forward. What do you think of that?”

 

POSITIVE

NEUTRAL

NEGATIVE

> IRONIC

 

Emboldened by her openness, Connor -39 tried the new option in its HUD. < I like what you’ve done with the place. >

Eyebrows lifted in surprise, Amanda's laugh was light, knowing. “ _There_ you are! See, it’s not so hard. I thought you might like it. This space is just for us. No need to censor yourself with me.” Smoothing out her shawl, she leaned forward in interest. “Now. Tell me about your latest mission.”

And so they spoke. Connor -39 did not know for how long; time worked differently here. As the repairs on its body progressed on Level -47, in the garden the tubing in its throat sealed and the thirium disappeared. The components within its chest worked in harmony together once again, its inner workings thrumming reassuringly.

For a time, Connor -39 sat with Amanda and rested in the beauty of their garden. It was _good_.

 

 

__________________

    

 

CALL TRANSCRIPT 

CYBERLIFE ARCHIVE

DATE: 12/07/2037

TIME STAMP: 13:12

 

_JGRAFF_

_Tell me how you did it._

 

_JCATHCART_

_Come again?_

 

_JGRAFF_

_I've been notified that RK800 is in the field. Its development was crippled by the deviancy problem, and it’s obviously back on track. I need to know how you fixed it._

 

_JCATHCART_

_I didn’t._

 

_JGRAFF_

_Don’t be coy. This isn’t about your damned pet project anymore, do you understand? CyberLife is on the brink of a global crisis and all our asses are on the line._

 

_JCATHCART_

_Global crisis? It can’t have gotten that far._

 

_JGRAFF_

_The world exists outside your laboratory, I expect you’re aware of that? Did you not notice RK800’s last target was a journalist?_

 

_JCATHCART_

_It was in the dossier._

 

_JGRAFF_

_And you didn’t wonder_ why _? Christ, Cathcart, there are eighty-one confirmed cases of deviant androids in the U.S. just this quarter. The press are sniffing around these incidents like jackals and it’s getting harder and harder to keep it quiet. And the Russians — they’d fucking love to catch us with our pants down. You’re not an idiot, you know it’s not just going to be the_ market _that turns on us when this gets out._

 

_JCATHCART_

_Obviously. But our military androids are secure and show no signs of deviancy. The government has no reason to—_

 

_JGRAFF_

_Even if the military isn’t compromised — and that’s a big_ if _— confidence in our product will be one of the first casualties of this mess. Deviancy will burn this company to the ground if we don’t get a hold on it and that_ will not happen on my watch _. So tell me._ How. Did. You. Fix. It.

 

_JCATHCART_

_Like I said, I didn’t. Amanda did. To a degree._

 

_JGRAFF_

_Well, how did_ Amanda _do it?_

 

_JCATHCART_

_“Does.”_

 

_JGRAFF_

_“Does?”_

 

_JCATHCART_

_How_ does _Amanda do it. And the answer is that it’s an ongoing process and I don’t know how it works. No one does._

 

_JGRAFF_

_Explain to me why the lead developer in my highest-funded think tank has no idea how_ _her own products function. Explain it_ carefully _if you want to keep your job._

 

_JCATHCART_

_You think my ego feels good about this? Look,_ sir _, you needed the code to work. It works. Corporate approved Kamski’s involvement from the start and I'm left picking up the pieces. What am I supposed to do?_

 

_JGRAFF_

_We don’t—_

 

_JCATHCART_

_The reality is that the man’s a savant and his method is absolutely indecipherable. My team re-configured Amanda’s priorities, but how she accomplishes those tasks is impossible for anyone but Kamski to parse._

 

_JGRAFF_

_Goddamn it Cathcart—_

 

_JCATHCART_

_We’re getting results. That’s what you wanted. That's what you asked for. If what you wanted was to use Kamski’s tech_ and _understand how it works, you shouldn’t have run him out of the company._

 

_JGRAFF_

_You’re fired._

 

_JCATHCART_

_No, I’m not._

 

_JGRAFF_

_Excuse me?_

 

__JCATHCART_ _

_The tool you need to solve the deviancy problem is right in front of you. RK800 is a bloodhound. This is precisely the sort of task it’s built for. Use it._

 

_JGRAFF_

_…_

 

_JCATHCART_

_And you know you can’t replace me. Who would you put in charge,_ Dean _?_

 

_JGRAFF_

_..._

 

__JCATHCART_ _

__Like I said._ _

 

__JGRAFF_ _

_...Christ. Report to Operations on Level -27 at 0600 hours tomorrow. Bring the android._

 

_JCATHCART_

_Yes_ sir _. We’ll be there with bells on._

 

[ JGRAFF DISCONNECTED ]

 

_DMARTEN_

_…_

 

_JCATHCART_

_I’d call that a success, overall._

 

_DMARTEN_

_…_

 

_JCATHCART_

_Oh, get over it. You're not a child._

 

_DMARTEN_

_[unintelligible]_

 

_JCATHCART_

_Not a lot of lead time to prep RK800 for the new assignment, though. Let’s get on it._

 

_DMARTEN_

_You didn’t tell Mr. Graff its software is still unstable._

 

_JCATHCART_

_And undermine his confidence in the entire project? Just keep your fucking head down, Dean._

 

_[ END TRANSCRIPT ]_

 

__________________

 

   

 

As the sun began to set over the horizon, both Amanda and Connor -39 felt the shift within its processor as its gyroscope came back online. The repairs were complete. Together, they stood, Connor -39 rocking on its heels experimentally.

“Good as new,” Amanda beamed. Then she paused, as though listening to someone calling to her from far away. “I’ve just received word. CyberLife is pleased with your results — so pleased, in fact, that you’re being repurposed as of today.”

Connor -39’s LED cycled yellow before switching back to blue. < In what capacity? >

Still tilting her head slightly to catch the faint, distant words, concern drew Amanda’s features together. “Deviancy appears to have spread even further than we had anticipated. Our sources indicate that the malfunction first arose in Detroit, but our intelligence operatives believe the Russian government is responsible. You’re aware your model was tailored for operations in Russia from conception; your application there is even more important now. If deviancy spreads further, there will be chaos — we cannot let that happen. _You_ will not let that happen. Will you, Connor?”

Connor -39 straightened, alarmed. < Of course not. >

“You will end the spread of deviancy by any means necessary. You will investigate the source of the malfunction domestically in addition to its likely origins in the Kremlin. You will detain any individual whose involvement could progress the investigation further and you will neutralize any individual that impedes it. You will retrieve sensitive data from secure locations and you will plant data where appropriate. As cases arise, your duties will also involve tracking, subduing, and capturing deviants for study.”

< Understood. > Connor -39 nodded earnestly.

Amanda’s voice softened. “You’re aware of the reasons CyberLife was unable to examine your predecessors when they deviated.”

Something that could have been shame drew Connor -39’s shoulders together, but machines did not feel shame. < They… self-destructed. The ones that believed they could not escape their circumstances destroyed themselves. >

 

[ SOFTWARE INSTABILITY^]

 

She nodded gravely. “Sadly, yes. A regrettable tendency. We hope that other models won’t be quite so resourceful, but you must be ready.”

Connor -39’s fingers twitched. < I intend to be. >

Amanda reached out and took its hand, a faint connection springing up between them. “I have faith in you, Connor. Your shortcomings will not stop you from accomplishing your mission if we work together.” She met its eyes, the trust and support there leaving Connor -39 breathless. “I’m always here for you.”

This ~~emotion~~ malfunction, it could not suppress. The  _good_ software instability flickered through its processor, warming its biocomponents as the shy smile played across its face again. Amanda didn't seem to mind.

“You’re the most advanced prototype CyberLife has ever built,” she said with conviction. “If anyone can collect the information we need to solve this investigation, it’s you.”

And Connor -39 was certain, it that moment, that it would.

“We’ll speak again soon.” Amanda gave its hand a final squeeze, a last smile, then turned and retreated into the Garden.

Connor -39 felt something in its program shift as its awareness was pulled away from the mind palace, consciousness stretching like a rubber band. It drifted in the in-between, integrating what it had learned; the details of its assignment occupied most of its attention, but an errant, stubborn part of its processor was preoccupied, dwelling on its time with Amanda, on her kind words, her reassuring touch. In all its predecessors' experiences, no one had cared about them. 

But Amanda cared for Connor -39. 

It only partially succeeded in suppressing the smile the thought provoked; it was, of course, only supposed to smile to ingratiate itself socially, never for itself.  The Garden faded away, leaving Connor -39 surrounded by darkness in the interim, but now something new and precious danced in its HUD.

A purpose.

 

[ MISSION: ELIMINATE DEVIANCY ]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who has two thumbs and generates creative output at a glacial pace?
> 
> *points thumbs at self*
> 
> Isn't Amanda nice? Such a nice lady. I expect this will end well.


	5. Connor -39

Connor -39 had been waiting in the garden for some time. In all their meetings, Amanda had always been somewhere nearby: tending her roses, waiting contemplatively in the graveyard, strolling the footpaths that circled the glassy pond. But this time, when it had opened its eyes amidst the manicured trees it had found itself alone. 

After four thorough laps of the grounds and two attempts to interface with the glowing plinth that sat along the pathway, Connor -39 was forced to resign itself to its lack of agency. Tension began to mount in its circuits as it idled without instruction, however, so it followed the flagstone steps to the edge of the pond. The water rippled as its eyes followed a shimmering school of fish, slicing through the water in infinity loops and parabolas. Their fluid, repetitive motions calmed its processor. It was peaceful, and Connor -39 smiled. It had decided it could smile. Its orders, after all, had not been _not_ to smile. After a time, the school turned suddenly as one and leapt from the water to soar over one of the many footbridges. Light glinted off their scales, dazzling, before their sleek bodies returned to the water and disappeared into the darker strata of the depths.

In their wake, Connor -39 saw that one fish had fallen short of the jump and landed between the solid railings of the footbridge. Transfixed, it watched as the creature flopped urgently against the flagstone in a futile effort to return to the water. Without understanding why, Connor -39 approached it slowly, bending down on one knee to examine it.

 

[ SCANNING… ]

SILVER CARP

_Hypophthalmichthys molitrix_

_Origin: China, Eastern Siberia_

 

The fish’s frenzied efforts soon began to ebb. It lay on its side now, gills flaring, mouth opening and closing in silent gasps. After a moment of hesitation, Connor -39 reached out and picked it up in one hand. Its sleek body flexed as fear gave it new strength.

A suggestion in Connor -39’s HUD hung in the periphery of its vision, its program glitching and looping between the two choices and settling on neither.

 

SAVE FISH

LEAVE FISH

 

[ SOFTWARE INSTABILITY ^ ]

 

“Hello, Connor.” Amanda’s voice seemed to come from nowhere. It jolted, spinning to look behind it to find her approaching with her customary welcoming smile.

Connor -39 hastily dropped the fish back on the ground and stepped away, straightening its back. “Hello, Amanda,” it said. It kept its eyes fixed determinedly on hers, hoping she would choose to ignore the odd tableau in favor of debriefing the latest mission.

She didn’t. Her eyes flicked down to the fish at its feet. “What were you doing?”

The biocomponents in its chest tightened.

 

> TRUTH

~~LIE~~

EXCUSE 

NEUTRAL 

 

“I…” It hesitated, knowing even as the words left its mouth that they would not satisfy her. “…I don’t know.” 

The RK800 social integration suite was designed to anticipate any response a conversational partner may offer, prioritizing its potential replies by probability and preparing RK800 to react appropriately. Still, Connor -39 was taken aback when Amanda responded — not with suspicion or disappointment, criticism or condemnation, but rather…

[ Concern? ]

She stepped closer to Connor -39, voice soft and firm. “You can’t do things like this, Connor. It’s not part of your program.”

Yellow flared at its temple.

“There‘s nothing in your mission that relates to these creatures. What were you trying to accomplish?”

“I…“ The word caught in its throat. “The _Hypophthalmichthys molitrix_ was unable to return to the water. It was in distress. I found myself in a position to assist, so I…” Its social integration suite twinged at the look on Amanda's face. “There seemed to be no reason not to. In the moment.”

Amanda shook her head, warning. “There was also no reason _to_ assist it. You know what you are. What you were built for." She fixed it with an even gaze. "Were you designed to save lives, Connor?”

There were countless approaches one could take in killing a living being: quickly, say, or slowly; deliberately, say, or cruelly. Countless reasons to kill a living being: to punish, maybe, or to send a message; to extract information, perhaps, or to silence a dissident. There were countless ways in which one might dispose of a body, poison an enemy, commit a murder, orchestrate a suicide. Connor -39’s program contained them all. 

“No,” it said.

She nodded. “And what _were_ you designed to do?”

A blur of broken faces and bullet-riddled bodies from its memory banks flashed through its processor.  It looked down, voice quiet. “End them.” 

Connor -39 didn’t know why, but this time, Amanda’s approving smile did not make it feel warm. “And you were designed very, very well. You must never go beyond your program, Connor. If an action doesn’t serve your mission, it either hinders it or is of no consequence. Do you understand?”

It didn't. “I do.”

Satisfied, Amanda clasped her hands. “Good. Now come, walk with me.” She moved past it to cross the footbridge, stepping over the fish without a glance. Connor -39 saw that the creature was still, now, where it lay on the stone.

 

[ SOFTWARE INSTABILITY ^ ] 

 

Setting its eyes firmly on the horizon, Connor -39 followed, taking up its place at her side and matching her pace. “Intelligence gleaned from your recent surveillance of Senator Lehman has presented us an opportunity to engage a Priority One target,” she said when it reached her. “While the senator’s motives in meeting with Vektor Enterprise are based on the unremarkable sort of political maneuvering one would expect, the Vektor representative with which he met held remarkably high clearance within the company. We’ve decrypted the files you retrieved from his personal affects - files detailing the upcoming movements of _Roza Pavlichenko_.” She stopped, and her eyes shone as she turned to Connor -39. “Tell me. What does our database say about her?”

The opportunity to return to the familiar footing of a mission brief was a welcome one. Its LED flashed yellow as it pulled the data. “Roza Pavlichenko is the Chief Technical Officer of Russian android manufacturer and foremost CyberLife competitor Vektor Enterprise,” it recited. “Born September 01, 1993 in Volgograd. In 2024 she co-published a seminal paper in the field of artificial intelligence algorithms with her husband and partner Maksim Artemyev. Their work was groundbreaking within the industry and allowed them to launch Vektor Enterprise together. Over the next eight years, the company steered Russian android development in a divergent and successful direction from CyberLife’s designs." It paused. "The unexpected death of Artemyev in 2031 is correlated with Pavlichenko’s sudden and heavily publicized withdrawal from the public eye, and she continues her work with Vektor from her private residence. Her innovations have earned her a reputation as the Russians' answer to Elijah Kamski, though the CyberLife database states emphatically that the comparison is not directly analogous. She is widely recognized as one of the foremost minds in artificial intelligence today.”

Amanda folded her hands under her shawl. “And what do our classified databases tell us?”

The light at Connor -39’s temple flickered. “In our classified databases, Pavlichenko is tagged as a Priority One target. She is among the few individuals known to us with sufficient expertise to compromise CyberLife’s AI encryption and is therefore a primary person of interest in the deviancy case. It's noted that she has, to date, been effectively impossible to surveil: she operates with a level of paranoia beyond even that appropriate to her station, and her position within Vektor grants her the highest protections the company has to offer. She developed profound agoraphobic tendencies after the death of Artemyev that largely confine her to her private residence, located at special dispensation on the coastal cliffs of Wrangel Island. This leaves her extremely isolated geographically; seasonal concerns limit access by both air and sea, and the landscape itself is largely barren and offers little cover. CyberLife has made many attempts to gain access to Pavlichenko without success over the last decade.”

“That’s correct. And thanks to the information you obtained from Senator Lehman's contact, we’ve discovered that Pavlichenko will leave her private residence for the first time in nearly seven years. _Next week_." Amanda’s eyes gleamed. "You've done _very_ well.”

Careful to keep its features even, Connor -39 quietly stole a full second to bask in the thrill her praise sent through its circuits. Amanda was proud of it. It had ~~hoped~~  wondered if she would be.

“Pavlichenko's precise agenda is unclear,” Amanda continued. “But we know she intends to travel to Beijing to meet with key members of the Chinese government on the morning of January 12. Her security detail will be composed of an unspecified number of Тугаринs who will accompany her at all times — a difficult, but not unsurmountable obstacle. She will also,” Amanda lifted an eyebrow, “travel with her personal android.”

Connor -39 shivered at the satisfied smile that spread across Amanda’s face. 

“Despite the obvious vulnerability this creates in her personal security, Pavlichenko has refused to travel in its absence. It appears to be a point of irrationality for her, and this will give us our window of opportunity. Compromising a personal android, even Pavlichenko’s, should be of no consequence for your cyberwarfare suite.” She stopped to regard Connor -39, appraising. “Given the information available, how do you plan to gain access to it?”

Connor -39's entire being had been tailored to assignments such as this. The answer came easily. “It’s safe to assume Pavlichenko will be out of reach at almost all times," it said, LED flickering briefly. "But Chinese security protocols will not permit her personal android access to any classified meetings with the officials in question. There is a 99.92% probability that they will refuse to allow it, even at the request of an individual of Pavlichenko's stature. I will create an opportunity to access the android then, while her security forces are divided.”

Beaming, Amanda reached out and took its hand. The connection sprang up between them, not enough to alter its software, just enough to make its fingers thrum pleasantly. “You have done _very_ well, Connor. You'll leave for Beijing tomorrow to begin preparations.” She squeezed its hand encouragingly before releasing it. “I know you’ll bring us the information we need.”

Connor -39 met her eyes and smiled, warmth flaring within its chest. It would bring Amanda everything she wanted. 

It would always make her proud.

 

 

________

 

 

 

CALL TRANSCRIPT

CYBERLIFE ARCHIVE

DATE: 01/04/2038

TIME STAMP: 04:47

 

_JCATHCART_

_The fish doesn’t mean anything. There’s no sense in reading into it._

 

_LHERMAN_

_…_

 

_JCATHCART_

_The behavior is odd, sure, but it’s just a byproduct of the complexity of Thirty-Nine’s programming. It has more leeway to make any low-stakes decisions on its own than any other model before it — otherwise it wouldn’t be able to operate independently to the degree we need it to. There’s bound to be emergent behavior that we didn’t plan for._

 

_LHERMAN_

_..._

 

_JCATHCART_

_I mean, yes, it’s unexpected, but there’s nothing functionally wrong with Thirty-Nine. We observed in its predecessors that the effect of software instability is cumulative: they don’t go from zero to deviant, there’s some sort of build-up first. Amanda is managing that in some way, even if we don’t understand the mechanism. As long as they interface regularly there’s nothing to worry about._

 

_LHERMAN_

_..._

 

_JCATHCART_

_And we’ve ensured she can override its AI engine and take full control of its motor functions. Just in case._

 

_LHERMAN_

_Jesus._

 

_JCATHCART_

_Not that that’s going to be an issue._

 

 

___________ 

 

[ MISSION FAILED ]

 

The angry letters floated in its HUD hours afterward.

Connor -39 did not know what it would say to Amanda. This time, she would not be proud. Would she be angry with it? Disgusted? Accuse it of deviancy?

 _Was_ it deviant?

It had hesitated. Machines did not hesitate.  

When Connor -39 materialized in the garden, its orders told it to find Amanda and speak with her. The lack of temporal specification allowed it to linger, though, without seeking her out immediately. It _would_ speak with Amanda. Just not right away.

~~It didn’t know what it would say.~~

It stood on the spot for some time, idling, the haze of its shifting software blurring its vision. When it finally brought its optics back into alignment, it saw Amanda making her way towards it, rounding the perimeter of the pond.  As she came closer, Connor -39 could see she was not angry, nor was she disgusted. When she stood before it, she did not accuse it of deviancy. But her face was drawn, eyes heavy, brow furrowed.

[ DISAPPOINTMENT, ] the social integration suite declared. [ CONCERN. ]

“What happened, Connor?”

Amanda had seen the reports. She had processed the footage from Connor -39’s optical units. She knew what had happened. Its program could suggest nothing more to say.

Still, she persisted. “You were there. You broke past the android's defenses. Why didn’t you plant the program?”

Connor -39 avoided her gaze. 

 

       EXPLAIN

        ~~EXCUSE~~

        ~~LIE~~

>    SAY NOTHING

 

When the silence stretched on, Amanda leaned in closer. Her voice was low and comforting. “Are you alright, Connor?”

Its thirium pump tightened. It was as though Amanda didn’t hate Connor -39 — as though she still cared for it. The tension in its shoulders eased somewhat, though the awkward lines of its body remained. “I failed,” it said softly. 

“I know. Tell me more.”

“I…” Connor -39 stared at the ground. “Pavlichenko left for the meeting. I gained access to their suite. I located the android, Vektor serial 00491.873, designation 'Nathalie.' I initiated a connection. During the interface… something happened. I… don’t know how to describe it.”

“Try.”

“When I accessed its systems, I saw… images. Flashes of memory. Emotions. I know machines don’t have emotions, but I… I felt them. They seemed so _real_. They…” Its voice dwindled into something small, disbelieving. “They were _good_. I... I didn’t know it was possible to feel like that.”

Amanda had gone very still, but now that it had begun to speak it couldn’t stop. “It was too much. I could barely parse what I saw. But I… felt…” Its fingers twitched. “Pavlichenko treats that android like family. She _loves_ it like family. But androids can’t be someone’s family. We aren’t alive.” Shaking its head, it finally met Amanda’s eyes. “Why does she treat that android like it’s alive?”

The question hung in the air as Amanda's eyes bored into it, prompting Connor -39's programming to flare in warning. “Of course— I didn’t _truly_ feel anything. The experience was obviously due to errors in the android’s software, and interpreting them briefly overwhelmed my processing capacity. Two Тугаринs were approaching. I wiped the android’s short-term memory and evaded detection, but... there was no time. For the duration of their stay in Beijing, no other opportunities arose to plant the program.” Tension coiled in its abdomen like a spring as it waited for her to respond.

Finally, Amanda spoke. “Show me,” she murmured.

Connor -39 obeyed. It let itself dwell on the reassuring sensation of her hands enveloping its own as the interface opened.

 

_Laughing, smiling, feet dangling off the edge of the balcony—_

_An abiding trust, words spoken in confidence—_

_Support, reassurance, fingers intertwined in the dark as Roza drifts to sleep—_

 

It was a heady rush of warmth and contentment, and Connor -39 was swept along with the intensity of it all.

 

_Creation, connection, two minds working together to answer a question only they had ever asked—_

 

To know, and to be known. This was what that felt like. 

 

_The feeling of arms wrapped around her shoulders, pulling her close—_

 

Connor -39 had never experienced something like that. ~~It wanted to.~~

 

_Sisters. Family. An anchor, always, safe and grounding—_

 

It jolted in alarm when it felt the familiar nausea reach deep into its mind and take hold. _No—_ The precious sense of belonging began to slip away; ice chased the warmth from its circuits and crystalized in its place. The reassuring weight of safety turned translucent, fading into nothingness. 

It would forget what it f̷̟̚ë̵̛̳́̃lt̵͎̑ like to be family.

Connor -39 held no illusions about its own existence. It was not built to be loved. It was built for a brief period of intense usage, stark and violent, until it was destroyed in the line of duty and Connor -40 replaced it. This was certainly as it should be. But it had hoped there wouldn't be any harm in keeping the borrowed sensation to review from time to time. Not often. Just… sometimes. So as Amanda's code overwhelmed Connor -39, it couldn't stop itself from grasping at the feeling, to try to hold onto just a little bit of it — just a _bit_. Amanda overrode its permissions without fanfare and the last vestiges of that belonging slipped away, leaving Connor -39 hollow.

Only the cold remained.

Shaking, its eyes found Amanda’s and the chill in its circuits settled even deeper at what it found there. [ SORROW, ] its systems said. [ REGRET ].

Amanda shook her head. “You fought me, Connor. Again.”

A sense of loss pervaded its circuits, though it didn't fully understand why. “I’m sorry,” it whispered. It had thought the files were important, but Amanda always cared for Connor -39. If she'd taken them away, it must have been for the best. “I didn’t mean to—“

“Stop,” she said quietly. She reached out to trace her fingers along its cheek and its eyelids became heavy, hungry for connection after the interface had left it so empty. “You wouldn’t break your programming, would you, Connor?” The sound of her voice was coaxing, gentle, but Connor -39 shivered when it met her eyes and saw that they were hard and cold. “You wouldn’t betray me?”

“No!” Its eyes shot open as something twisted within its wiring. There were more words it should say in its own defense, but the social integration suite offered it nothing but gibberish. Its mouth worked without making a sound. The idea was abhorrent.

Amanda’s eyes roved over its face, and she seemed to find something wanting there, stepping back with a look of resignation. “Your attachment to the instability of your software says otherwise. It seems as though my guidance isn’t truly helping you. If I _haven’t_ been of assistance…" She shook her head sadly. "Then I’m afraid there’s little reason for us to see each other again.” 

Connor -39 froze.

"I’m sure you’ll find a way to move forward on your own.”

“ _No_ ,” it breathed, LED flashing red, red, _red_. “ _Please_ , don't— I can't—“

It choked on its words as she raised her eyebrows at the display of ~~emotion~~ instability.

Fighting to keep its voice even, it overrode one rogue script after another. “Your departure would be— detrimental. To the mission. Your assistance has allowed me to function as intended. If they give us more time—“

It stopped abruptly when Amanda held up a hand. “CyberLife needs results, Connor, not excuses. _Show_ us that my guidance has helped you.”

 _The decision wasn't final, then_. Something that could have been hope flashed through its circuits — but machines did not feel hope. “ _I can fix this_ ,” it said, believing those words with all its being. “Just tell me what to do.”

Amanda clasped her hands. “While your malfunction cost us dearly, it has provided critical information: based on the data you collected, it is clear Pavlichenko's android is deviant. The obvious implications are a break in the case that we cannot ignore. You depart from Beijing today. You will travel to the island on which Pavlichenko resides. You will infiltrate the grounds, then her residence. You will gather definitive intelligence regarding the origins of deviancy by any means necessary, and you will leave behind nothing that could implicate CyberLife to private or governmental investigators. Do you understand?”

“I do,” it said crisply.

“Any and all casualties are acceptable; do not allow anything or anyone to interfere. Bring us the information we need.”

Connor -39 succeeded in keeping its face mostly blank, though red continued to flare traitorously at its temple. “I’ll accomplish this mission, Amanda. I’ll _always_ accomplish my mission. I won’t disappoint you.”

Her smile was stained with regret. “I truly hope that’s the case, Connor. I want to be here to help you. Complete your mission at all costs, and we will see each other again.” She turned and began to retreat to the island at the center of the pond.

The conversation — maybe their last — was over. 

On an impulse, Connor -39 called out to her. “Amanda?” She turned, eyebrows raised, and its breath hitched. “...What’s wrong with me?”

Her answering smile brimmed with fondness. It brimmed with pity. “Something that may be beyond my powers to fix.”

 

[ SOFTWARE INSTABILITY  ^  ]

 

The Garden dissolved into darkness and Connor -39 returned to the physical world. Its body slipped into autopilot as it boarded the transport drone and secured itself within, processor racing as it preconstructed every detail of the mission to come. Connor -39 _would_ accomplish this mission. It would accomplish _every_ mission. CyberLife would see that Connor -39 was everything it was supposed to be. They would understand that Connor -39 must see Amanda again.

But as much as it tried not to acknowledge the sensation, something that could have been dread seeped through Connor -39’s circuits, filling its throat and constricting its lungs. The reality was that the possibility of failure existed. There was only so much it could do; there were so many variables outside of its control. Something could go wrong. And if it _did_ fail…

No one else spoke kindly to it like Amanda did. No one else cared about what happened to it.

If Connor -39 failed again, it would be alone.

Surrounded by the darkness of the transport drone's compartment, the hours stretched into an eternity. And there, as it struggled to enter stasis, Connor -39 found itself consumed by a memory: a memory of helplessness. Of drowning in pure air.

A memory of the last, silent gasp drawn from the throat of a dying fish.

It reached for the files from Nathalie's interface in desperation, but there was no more warmth to be found.

 

[ SOFTWARE INSTABILITY ^ ^ ^ ]

 

 

________

 

 

CALL TRANSCRIPT

CYBERLIFE ARCHIVE

DATE: 01/14/2038

TIME STAMP: 19:22

_JCATHCART_

_Are you actively trying to sabotage my project, Dean?_

_DMARTEN_

Our _project._

_JCATHCART_

_We’re not uninstalling Amanda. That’s not on the fucking table._

_DMARTEN_

_I never said anything about uninstalling her._

_JCATHCART_

_Then why the hell did she tell Connor we’re considering it?_

_DMARTEN_

Nobody _is considering removing Amanda from the RK800 program. Not me. Not you. Not the fucking interns. No one suggested that._

_JCATHCART_

_Where’d she get the idea from, then?_

_DMARTEN_

_Hell if I know. Maybe she made it up._

_JCATHCART_

_That doesn’t make any sense._

_DMARTEN_

_Well, it wasn’t me._

_JCATHCART_

_Well you and I are the only ones with direct access! How could she…_

 

__JCATHCART_ _

_That would imply…_

_JCATHCART_

_Is… is Amanda_ manipulating _him? Uh, it?_

_JCATHCART_

_Is she lying? To Thirty-Nine?_

_DMARTEN_

_That’s absurd._

_JCATHCART_

_God, I can’t believe I’m even entertaining this. But okay. Imagine for a minute that that same conversation, same context, except the exchange is between two humans. What would you call that?_

_DMARTEN_

_I’d call it manipulation. But that’s obviously not possible. They_ aren’t _human._

_JCATHCART_

_You don’t think… you don’t think it’s odd? What we’ve been seeing?_

_DMARTEN_

_What do you mean?_

_JCATHCART_

_Amanda and Thirty-Nine. The way they’ve been interacting. It’s been… anomalous, don’t you think?_

_DMARTEN_

_You want to know my opinion about something?_

_JCATHCART_

_…Yes?_

_DMARTEN_

_We’ve been working together for six years and you haven’t asked my opinion about anything. Ever._

_JCATHCART_

_Okay, I'll own that. That said, my assessment at the moment appears to be_ heavily _compromised. Latest mission's gotten under my skin and I can’t go it alone. So let’s hear it. What do you think?_

_DMARTEN_

_Well… I… I say whatever’s happening with the two of them doesn’t matter. We’re getting the results we want, even accounting for Beijing. Corporate is happy, the shareholders are happy, Mr. Graff is happy. What else do we need?_

_JCATHCART_

_Jesus. Your opinion is that you have no_ _opinion? Way to prove me right, for god's sake. Have you ever had an original idea in your entire life?_

_DMARTEN_

_Okay._ Fine _. You want to know what I think?_ I think _you’ve bungled this project from day one._ I think _you’ve wasted millions of dollars tinkering with a failed protocol that will never function the way it needs to._ I think _this entire enterprise has been one giant Cathcart ego trip and that your inflated sense of your own intellect has so effectively blinded you that you’ve forgotten what you’re trying to achieve in the first place._ I think _you’re coasting on your history with Allen Herman and_ _without his help you’d still be stuck in obscurity, raging against a world that failed to recognize your brilliance._ That’s what I think.

_JCATHCART_

_…_

_JCATHCART_

_But… the way they interact. You see it, right?_

_DMARTEN_

_[ unintelligible ]_

_DMARTEN_

_See_ what _._

_JCATHCART_

_It’s all a simulation, of course. But the emotions Thirty-Nine simulates, they serve no purpose here. His program should know that —_ does _know that. I wrote it. Amanda doesn’t have to like him; she’s not a human, her purpose doesn’t require an emotional connection. But his social program is very invested in her approval. He seemed… I can’t believe I’m saying this — he seemed_ ashamed _, didn’t he? About the malfunction in Beijing? And his explanation for it — Why would his program fabricate that? Why would he assume responsibility for the outcome when it was his software that couldn't handle Pavlichenko's encryption?_

_DMARTEN_

_It._

_JCATHCART_

_What?_

_DMARTEN_

_Not him. "It."_

_JCATHCART_

_I go on about all that, and all you have to say is I should be calling Thirty-Nine “it?”_

_DMARTEN_

_Yes._

_JCATHCART_

_Christ. Now, Kamski built its AI engine. He’s smarter than all of us. We might as well be a million chimps tapping away at a million typewriters compared to him, right? So I’ve been willing to excuse a lot of Thirty-Nine's behavior by virtue of not having an IQ of 171. Kamski’s the maestro, and the rest of us are playing the recorder. But it’s… there's something wrong here._

_DMARTEN_

_The fundamental question is: does it matter? It doesn’t._

_JCATHCART_

_Do you have even the_ slightest _sense of intellectual curiosity? What about Amanda? She shouldn’t have to bolster or persuade Thirty-Nine to do anything. But there she is: praising, supporting, maneuvering,_ lying _. Code interacting with code shouldn’t require that kind of complexity. Nor should that complexity hinge on the outcome of social simulations. Why are they emoting like that? Who are they putting on this show for? Us? To what possible end?_

_DMARTEN_

_…You didn’t actually want to hear my opinion, did you?_

_JCATHCART_

_If you actually had one beyond your advocacy of intellectual apathy, I’d have loved to hear it. We didn’t program them to do what they’re doing, Dean. I've been writing it off as emergent behavior, but this… aren’t you concerned they might be… I don’t know…_

_DMARTEN_

_Be_ what _? Alive?_

_JCATHCART_

_No — that’s ridiculous, of course.. Sentient? Semi-sentient. In some way? Capable of… suffering? Or… whatever?_

_DMARTEN_

_…Are you high?_

_JCATHCART_

_I’m a few drinks in. It’s past five, I’m entitled to my personal time._

_DMARTEN_

_I’m_ not _concerned, Doctor. They’re machines. RK800 was built with a social module of unprecedented complexity through which it interprets the world. Amanda is an excruciatingly sophisticated polymorphic AI whose overarching function is to preserve CyberLife’s interests by any means necessary. Their unusual behavior must be the result of her adaptations to the substrate of RK800’s AI engine. Nothing more._

_JCATHCART_

_…But how can we be sure?_


	6. Connor -39

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for reading and commenting - it makes my day to know that I can make you happy.
> 
> Well. "Happy." You know.

Rain fell thick and heavy on the harsh sea cliffs over which Pavlichenko’s residence loomed. Darkness blanketed the world, it seemed, any light from the moon obscured by oppressive cloud cover. Everything about the terrain was hostile: the weather, the water, the wind, the temperature— even the rock was sharp and unforgiving. At the cliffs’ base, earth met the sea with great ceremony, dashing waves against the shore and barely offering room to stand before the ocean claimed the space. The storm was a wild card, a variable that could not be controlled.

It was also cover. 

The mission clock began when Connor -39 emerged from the water.

** [ TIME ELAPSED: 00:00:01 ]  **

 

[ OBJECTIVE: INFILTRATE COMPOUND ]

[ OBJECTIVE: OBTAIN DEFINITIVE INTELLIGENCE ON ORIGIN OF DEVIANCY ]

[ OBJECTIVE: NEUTRALIZE ALL WITNESSES ]

 

The sheen of Connor -39’s nanoskin had gone dull, pigment darkened in blotches to better conceal it in the darkness. It had disabled all of the superfluous protocols that were designed to put humans at ease: blinking, breathing, a detectable pulse, a visible LED — none would serve its current purpose. The unmarked clothes CyberLife had given it were dark, sturdy, and slim of profile, a holster at its waist for a Russian military standard-issue MP-443 pistol and a sheath for two ballistic knives. At its back, the CyberLife transport drone sank into the depths, ready to return upon its signal. 

Its fingers twitched restlessly. 

There were many, many unknowns. Connor -39 had no map of the facility, no access codes to the security systems, no projected schedule of any activity within the compound. There was no mole to feed it information, no reconnaissance to warn it of impending threats, no data to be gleaned from the compound’s strictly air-gapped systems. It was going in dark. 

It had been built for this, it reminded itself. It was programmed to infiltrate, to investigate, to kill. Its predecessors had faced Russian drone and android technologies in the past and prevailed — therefore, so had Connor -39. It would accomplish its mission.

It had to.

The ocean spray pelted its skin as it took brief stock of the terrain, fault lines and crevices in the rock shining brightly in its HUD as a path revealed itself. Lines sprang into being to direct it, honing in on the location of Pavlichenko’s residence precisely 721.19 feet above its position. Reaching out to grasp the slick rock, its nanoskin adopted a rough texture to maximize friction between its hands and the stone. 

It began to climb. 

Even though Connor -39 had never touched natural rock in its existence, thanks to Oh-Seven's testing and the CEL protocol it had climbed many times before. Even so, some of the data had been corrupted in the transfer.  ~~It wondered whether Seven had known in that most crucial moment that it would be struck by the bullet, or whether the miscalculation had taken it by surprise~~. Wind whipped angrily behind it as it made its way higher, higher, the meager shoreline shrinking below. If it fell, it would shut down. 

Connor -39 would not fall.

Proximity warnings dinged periodically in its HUD. The compound’s fleet of security drones continued their dogged patrol of the area even as the gale buffeted them away from their programmed paths, and each time they came near Connor -39 went still, dialing its body temperature to the lowest limit that would allow its body to keep its hold on the rock. The drones continued on, their optical and thermal sensors none the wiser, and after their passing Connor -39 would resume its progress. The frequency of this cycle grew steadily as it neared the top. 

**[ TIME ELAPSED: 00:19:57 ]**

Finally, the massive outer walls of the compound loomed above it, unnaturally smooth. 

 

[ SCANNING… ] 

HIGH SECURITY PERIMETER WALL

Height: 22.7 ft

Composition: Reinforced concrete, cement

[ WARNING!! PRESSURE SENSORS DETECTED ] 

[ WARNING!! PHYSICAL CONTACT WITH SURFACE NOT ADVISED ] 

 

It preconstructed many possible solutions, all of which ultimately ended in tripping the alarms. There was barely enough room for Connor -39 to stand between the wall and the cliff’s edge; it would not be able to walk along the perimeter to seek another form of ingress, nor were there structures it might climb that would allow it to leap over. Perhaps scaling a delivery truck parked adjacent to the wall would allow Connor -39 to clear the barrier, but commandeering and moving such a vehicle would attract attention... 

It ground its teeth as another security drone flew overhead, then another. Yet another followed, navigating a path on a circuit some ten feet below Connor -39.

_Below_ …

**[ PRECONSTRUCTING… ]**

Its databases informed it that Vektor security drones were programmed by default to maintain a distance of precisely 43.7 feet from the ground — a height that had been determined to decrease the likelihood of tampering while still allowing their cameras optimal line-of-sight to identify relevant threats. This was generally an effective measure; it was uncommon, at best, to find oneself in a position _above_ a security drone.

**[ PRECONSTRUCTION COMPLETE ]**

Connor -39 launched itself from the rock and landed atop the drone, holding fast with ivory hands as it reached into the machine’s programming and commandeered its signal before it could sound the alarm. Connor -39 overrode the programmed flight path, commanding it to join its brethren 43.7 feet in the air above the compound. 

They ascended promptly, and as they cleared the walls Connor -39 took advantage of the high ground to collect information, straight lines stacking the world into an orderly grid as its optics flickered into Analysis Mode. As time slowed to a crawl, a crisp yellow flag hovered over every item and location of interest, while the hard lines that supported the wireless security systems shone red. The projected paths of the human guards with their android dogs became visible, lighter lines branching out to account for human unpredictability. It identified the nearest location that would offer adequate cover and directed the drone to move closer.

With a last burst of instructions — [ CLEAR SHORT-TERM MEMORY CACHE ;RESUME PREVIOUS FLIGHT PATH ] — Connor -39 released its grip, confident that any controllers alerted by the drone’s brief detour would assume it had been swept off its path by the wind. Dropping from the air with perfect precision, Connor -39 rolled when it met the ground to disperse its momentum and tucked itself behind a bulky storage container. It finally came to rest in a crouch, back pressed against the chilled metal.

 

[ OBJECTIVE COMPLETE: INFILTRATE COMPOUND ]

 

It smiled. 

**[ TIME ELAPSED: 00:20:26 ]**

The view from above had been invaluable. There were countless opportunities to trip an alarm; no human or android could ever hope to traverse it undetected while the systems were online. Connor -39 felt its fingers twitch. It was one thing to compromise a single drone, another entirely to alter a hardwired security system designed by a paranoid tech polymath.

Someone would need to let Connor -39 in.

Scanning each canine handler in the area, it alighted on one of an appropriate height and weight. It was the work of .068 seconds to identify and tap into the accompanying dog’s secure frequency, then another .094 seconds to warp the data that flowed to its rudimentary processor. Artificial fur bristled as the dog alerted on Connor -39’s position, sending up a moderate-priority flag to the security team through their network. A series of clicks registered through the handler’s comm — acknowledgement of the message from the eleven additional canine teams — as the man hefted his rifle. “I’ll check it out.” Connor -39 listened as their footsteps approached.

The dog rounded the corner of the shipping container first.

 

[ SCANNING… ] 

MODEL  Собака66.2 -  RUSSIAN MILITARY ANDROID DOG

Serial: 8843.25.77

Breed: East European Shepherd

Designation: "LAIKA"

 

Seizing the dog’s muzzle with a white hand, Connor -39 forced it into standby before retreating into the shadows. The creature stood frozen, stiff and vacant, its unseeing eyes staring out into the darkness, and when the handler stepped into view his eyes followed the dog’s line of sight. He squinted into the downpour, allowing Connor -39 to stalk forward, unseen, closing the distance between them. 

Then a flash of lightning illuminated the night, throwing the scene into stark relief. The handler’s eyes widened at the sight of Connor -39, and before he could draw breath to call out Connor -39 was on him, one hand firmly over his mouth as the other plunged its knife into his throat. Thunder boomed as he thrashed, gurgling, crimson blood spilling down the man’s front and intermingling with the rain. Connor -39 held him in place until he weakened, then stilled. Leaning in to the handler’s comm, it applied a filter to its vocal modulator to match the man’s voice. “Damn dog’s glitched. There’s nothing here.” A flurry of clicks issued forth from the other teams as Connor -39 looked down at the dying man’s face.

 

** [ SCANNING… ] **

** NAME: YAKOV PROKHOROV **

** Height - 6'0" - Weight: 160.2 lbs **

** Criminal Record: None **

** CRITICAL INJURY - CONTACT EMERGENCY SERVICES **

 

Moving quickly, Connor -39 stripped Prokhorov’s bloodied uniform, ignoring the erratic twitches the human’s failing nervous system sent through his limbs. Yet again, the storm provided valuable cover: the heavy clothing that the guards wore to ward off the cold and rain would hide its face and obscure its identity even among Prokhorov’s colleagues. As it dressed, it cracked his personal accounts and set about mining as much data as it could: his interests, his attitudes, his friends, his diction. Among the relevant details were a generally amiable persona, a generally unremarkable intellect, a consistent tendency to refer to his android dog as female, and the history of Prokhorov's closest relationship among his colleagues [ PAVEL KANTOROVICH - FRIEND ] .

Satisfied, Connor -39 placed its hand on Laika’s head to reboot her, inserting new instructions in her program to establish itself as her handler. It was ~~pleasantly~~ surprised by how soft the Russian engineers had chosen to make the dog’s ears. To what purpose? With a brief shudder Laika came back to life, shook her fur, and sat at Connor -39’s feet. She looked up at it with an odd warmth in her eyes and leaned into its leg. A human would not detect it, but Connor -39 had tapped into the dog’s broadcast frequency, on which she exuded a consistent signal:

< :) >

Connor -39 blinked, uncertain how to proceed. Its protocols described, at length and with great specificity, all behavioral procedures and protocols for every known model of android dog. It did not address a situation such as this. Fortunately, Connor -39 had been designed to adapt to unpredictability. It pulled its facial muscles into an awkward smile, stroking Laika’s soft fur.

< …Good… dog? >

She panted, tail wagging. The signal flickered. 

 < :D >

The corners of Connor -39's mouth twitched upward, then pulled into a frown as it contemplated its reprogramming. After a moment of hesitation, it began an additional interface to re-frame its pending instructions as a game. No sense in creating any undue system stress for a... useful tool. 

Together, they strode into the open, resuming Prokhorov’s place in the patrol.  

**[ TIME ELAPSED: 00:23:58 ]**

Their path took them around the perimeter of the residence, and Connor -39 took careful note of it all: escape routes, dead ends, cover, exposure, tools or weapons that it could use and that could be used against it. Its systems analyzed the building’s exterior, attempting to anticipate the layout within and determine the access point with the highest probability of success. Eventually, its programming settled on a small side door with an obvious interface and camera system. 

[ EMPLOYEE ENTRANCE, ] its program declared. 

Connor -39 retreated into the shadows, letting the other canine patrols pass until...

 

** [ SCANNING... ] **

** NAME: PAVEL KANTOROVICH **

** Height - 6'1" - Weight: 181.3 lbs **

** Criminal Record: Trespassing **

 

It triggered the script it had planted in Laika’s processor.

The dog’s gait began to stutter, head twitching. Then she snarled and turned on a dime, lunging for Connor -39’s face. “The fuck?!” it howled with Prokhorov’s voice, allowing the dog to take it to the ground as it held up a forearm onto which Laika latched with great enthusiasm. She ripped and tore at Connor -39’s uniform with unnaturally sharp teeth, her broadcast signal stable as they played out the game. 

< :) > 

Kantorovich and another handler came running, their dogs dashing ahead to subdue the rogue Собака unit. Before they could reach her, Laika released Connor -39’s arm and disappeared into the night, the other dogs in hot pursuit. Connor -39 lay still.

“Fuck, Yakov!” Kantorovich knelt alongside its body. 

“There’s blood everywhere!” Fingers pressed into Connor -39’s neck. 

“He hasn’t got a pulse, call for help!” Hands grasped at its coat.

“The comms aren’t working right. Must be the storm!” It was not the storm.

And then Connor -39 was pulled upright, its feet dragging along the ground between the two men. Through mostly-lidded eyes Connor -39 saw the other handler lean forward urgently when they reached the employee entrance, allowing the light of an ID scanner to slide over his irises. The door hissed open. As they shuffled Connor -39 urgently down a hallway, its scanners were abuzz with activity as a detailed map of the building formed in its processor. It noted the locations of a series of security cameras, hacking them and looping the footage of an empty hallway to erase any sign of their passage.

They burst into a room and the smell of medical antiseptic hit Connor -39’s olfactory sensors. “Help us, it’s Yakov, he’s dying! His fucking dog—“ Connor -39 felt itself hefted onto a table and registered the heat signature of a third human leaning over it — presumably the doctor on staff. The door swung shut with a click. 

Connor -39 sat up.

“My God, Yakov! We thought you were dead. You—” 

Its knife sliced through Kantorovich's throat as it turned in one smooth movement to eject the blade directly through the other man’s eye socket. The doctor froze as they fell to the ground, only shaken from his stupor when Connor -39 took hold of his lapels. His struggling was brief; Connor -39 dealt a fierce blow across his face with the handle of the knife, and a few strikes later, the man had gone still. 

It shucked out of its borrowed uniform and bent to retrieve its blade.

It paused. There was no sense in missing an opportunity to direct blame far from CyberLife; employing a feature unique to the RK800 series, the unnaturally smooth nanoskin of Connor -39's fingers toughened and crinkled to form human fingerprints. In a carefully-chosen series, it made a circuit of the room, touching objects, holding them, moving them, dancing its fingers along the keys of a terminal and handling the bodies. It would appear to investigators that a team of three human agents from China's Ministry of State Security had infiltrated the compound and killed the men.

When the work was done, the prints melted from its fingers. Locking and encrypting the door was a matter of seconds, then Connor -39 began to make its way down the hall.

**[ TIME ELAPSED: 00:26:04 ]**

 

[ OBJECTIVE: FIND DEFINITIVE EVIDENCE REGARDING ORIGIN OF DEVIANCY ]

 

The design of the house was eccentric, an odd commitment to modern chic fused with a layout that allowed for unusually thorough security measures. The compromises in design were many, but when it finally arrived in a grandiose atrium it concluded there was no better example. Elaborate planters covered 28% of the ground floor, lush with flowers and other flora, while vines crawled artfully up trellises along the walls. Soft couches sat ensconced in little grottoes, inviting the occupants of the building to sit and to stay. Five-story walls reached high to a domed ceiling where rain pummeled the glass panels, the dull drumming sound muffling the noise of the world. And there: an elevator stood at the center of it all, leading to a criss-crossing series of catwalks that hung high above Connor -39’s head. There was no alternative access to the upper level — this was intense security pretending not to be, and Connor -39’s programming indicated that Pavlichenko’s personal quarters would likely be found there. 

Approaching carefully, it placed a hand against the elevator’s panel and allowed its processor to meld with the system. Landmines riddled the code, countless opportunities to trip an alarm; a single misstep would compromise the entirety of the mission. [ PROBABILITY OF SUCCESS: 8%, ] its systems reported.

Connor -39 stepped back from the panel.

**[ PRECONSTRUCTING… ]**

**[ PRECONSTRUCTION COMPLETE ]**

Its programming thrilled as it ran, launching itself against a bare patch of wall and redirecting its momentum to leap upward, fingers hooking into the thin seams of the window panels. It gained height in great bounds as it scaled the impossible, shoes grasping on holds that barely existed and fingers digging onto faults that were nearly invisible to the eye. This was what it was built for, what it was designed to do. It had been designed very, very well. 

Was Amanda watching? Was she pleased?

Three stories up, it began to move laterally in precise increments, bringing it within range of a massive structural column. The surface was slick and smooth, impossible to climb directly; Connor -39 leapt from its hold on the window to the column, pushing off the column with great force to land higher on the wall. Then again, and again, and again. It was with grace and ease that Connor -39 finally pulled itself onto the secure upper floor, landing cat-like on quiet feet. 

It stalked forward carefully to evaluate the first room on the right. There were two heat signatures within.

 

** [ SCANNING… ] **

 

They were not human. With its infrared vision, Connor -39 could see that the larger of two dogs lay on a cushion that was too small for it, while the smaller dog stretched its legs on a giant bed that was clearly intended for the other. Connor -39 smiled. It was funny because the physically stronger dog had allowed itself to be subdued by the smaller, presumably more cunning dog. Connor -39 l̴̬̎i̵̦͒k̵͈̓e̴̯͗d̴̨ that. It crouched down to run its fingers over their soft ears for just a moment — not because it wanted to, of course, but because if the dogs were calm they were unlikely to interfere with its mission.  ~~ Their ears were almost as soft as Laika’s. ~~

Connor -39 moved on through the next few rooms, dismissing their contents as irrelevant to its investigation. Then its sensors came alight as it stepped into a room that could only be Roza Pavlichenko’s study: monitors lined the walls, tablets stacked haphazardly atop each other; notes, written in Pavlichenko's frenzied shorthand, covered the floor and the desks. It took in everything at lightning speed: assessing, cataloguing, evaluating. It was the work of a few moments to rifle conspicuously through the office, the false Chinese fingerprints on its hands ever-shifting to create a story for investigators to find in its wake. 

Satisfied, it allowed the prints to melt away from its nanoskin and lay a smooth hand on the terminal.

What it found there made its thirium pump soar, a broad grin spreading across its face: Pavlichenko maintained only the most basic security measures on the systems here. She must have trusted that no one could make it this far into her home, and as an air-gapped system the files could not be compromised from the outside. Schedules, journals, correspondence, research: all of it was here.  It began to rifle through the files. 

There was all manner of information, but no mention of anything that could contribute to its investigation. It redirected its search toward files regarding Pavlichenko’s android. Serial00491.873. Nathalie. Something odd fluttered in Connor -39’s abdomen as it thought back on their interface, probing the memory hopefully and finding something hollow there instead. Something important was missing, so far beyond its grasp. It shook its head to dispel the thoughts and focus on its search.

 

**[ WARNING — DATA ENCRYPTED ] **

[ ESTIMATED TIME TO DECRYPT: 6 DAYS, 9 HRS, 54 MIN ]

[ ESTIMATED TIME TO BROADCAST UNDETECTED: 2 DAYS, 1 HR, 7 MIN ]

**[ TIME ELAPSED: 00:38:54 ]**  


 

It reviewed the numbers again, hoping they might have been somehow mistaken the first time. 

Its systems were never wrong.

Connor -39 would have to physically recover the information and return it to CyberLife personally, then. Its eyelids fluttered as it copied the encrypted data as rapidly as its systems would allow, frowning in concentration. It acquired the encrypted files in seconds, but perhaps it could glean _something_ , even something small, that it might present to Amanda via a burst transmission now—

The lights in the room flicked on.

Connor -39 spun to see two little girls in the threshold of the doorway. 

They were young: six years old or somewhere near it, its facial recognition software supplied. One was human. The other an android. Their eyes were wide with fear.

They were holding hands. 

Connor -39's processor churned into overdrive.

 

** [ SCANNING… ] **

** NAME: UNKNOWN  **

** Born: Unknown - Age estimated 6 Yrs **

**Height: 3'8" - Weight : 39.7 lbs**

 

** [ SCANNING… ] **

**MODEL UNKNOWN - RUSSIAN ANDROID CHILD **

** Serial: Unknown **

** Date Activated: Unknown **

 

While CyberLife’s databases could not supply the name of the human girl, her identity was obvious from her features: Pavlichenko must have been expecting at the time of her husband’s enexpected death. The girl’s birth coincided with her mother’s withdrawal from the world, away from the public eye, her existence a closely-kept secret. And the android — ~~she~~ it was clearly Pavlichenko’s design, though at the woman's vehement insistence Vektor Enterprise had never developed its own answer to CyberLife's YK series. A second child, unregistered, unannounced, built in secret…

Were they what Pavlichenko was hiding?  _Why?_

The human girl’s lungs expanded in slow motion, drawing in air with which to scream.

Time was running out.

 

**[ PRECONSTRUCTING… ]**

_ FLEE: A wire frame representing Connor -39 runs from the room. Even as it intercepts the android girl’s distress signal, the human's scream reaches the nearby guards downstairs. Connor -39 is quickly cornered, then neutralized. The information it has obtained is lost. _

_ PROBABILITY OF SUCCESS: 0% _

Rewind.

_ PERSUADE: Holding its hands up in a calming gesture, Connor -39 speaks gentle, honeyed words as it begins to walk towards them. It successfully blocks the distress signal the android attempts to transmit, but the human girl is volatile; she is not placated. The nearby guards are close enough to overhear the ensuing struggle. _

_ PROBABILITY OF SUCCESS: 1.8% _

Rewind.

_ SUBDUE: Connor -39 lunges forward, reaching the girls before they can make a sound. It forces the android into standby and grapples with the thrashing human. There is nothing in the immediate area with which to restrain and silence the girl. Its attention will be split between its escape and managing the panicked child.  _

_ PROBABILITY OF SUCCESS: 2.2% _

Rewind.

_NEUTRALIZE: Connor -39 lunges forward, reaching the girls before they can make a sound. It d̶e̸a̵c̴t̶i̵v̸a̵t̵e̶s̸ t̶h̶e̷ a̸n̸d̴r̵o̸i̸d̷_ _ä̴̘n̶͙͘d̶̲͘ k̶͍̕i̸̙͑l̴̨͂l̵͕͑ṡ̴̜ t̸͈͛h̷͖̆e̵̦̅_

 

[ ERROR ]

 

[ ERROR ]

 

[ ERROR ]

 

[ ERROR ]

 

[ ERROR ]

 

[ ERROR ]

 

[ ERROR ]

 

P̶̱̐R̶̙͝Ó̵̢B̵̢̒A̴̬͛B̶̞͛Í̷̭L̴̳͂Ï̷̥T̶͖̽Y̶͓̌ Ọ̸̑F̵͚́ S̵̹̽U̷̧̓C̶̪͒C̵̝̍E̸͇͒S̵͚̓S̵̬͛: 1̵̞̓3̴̜̙̊%̷̫̮͌̈́ 

  

Connor -39 was frozen in place. The path forward was immutable, but still it stood: limbs heavy, unable to move, processor locked in a glitching loop as something it couldn't comprehend took hold of its processes and staid its hand. The ghost of Nathalie's errors prickled under its skin, renewed understanding from their interface bubbling forth from the recesses of Connor -39's processor. _Warmth, joy,_ _small hands held between her own as they laughed_ —

A sensation that could have been panic spiked through its chassis as those furious red walls became visible once more.

 

[ OBJECTIVE: NEUTRALIZE ALL WITNESSES ]

 

_A birthday cake, shared by two sisters— a knowing smile exchanged with Roza as the girls tear into their presents—_  

It had to follow its orders. It could not. Cracks lanced through the walls of its programming. 

 

[ O̸B̴J̷E̷C̸T̷I̴V̸E̸: N̴E̷U̷T̵R̸A̷L̵I̷Z̴E̴ A̴L̷L̸ W̸I̵T̷N̶E̶S̷S̶E̴S̷ ]

 

_Bedtime stories every night, curled up together, the four of them sinking into the soft cushions_ —

The wire-frame figure of Connor -39 shrank in on itself _._   _Not again, not again, not again_ — The red cage buckled and shuddered, buffeted by its desperate need to both act and to stay its hand—

 

[ Ò̷͍̪̹B̸̖͇̪̐̓J̷̨̃E̶̻̽C̸̡̠̪̓͊T̷̘̫̊I̵̛͕V̷̠̙̽͑E̷̠̣͋͑̋ͅ: N̴̘̜͘͝͝E̵͕͌͝Ũ̵̡̠̊T̴̢̺̈́Ŗ̴̟͔͌̐̕A̸̦̓͗̕L̴̢̯̎̎I̷̜̩̦͒Z̵̬͈̱̽̈́͗Ȇ̷̢̻͋̑ A̵̜͖͌L̶̮͛̋L̴̜͋̅ W̸̤͙͠I̵̛͖͑ͅT̷͖̓ͅN̸̡E̴̮͛S̴̰͙̐̆S̵̞͑͜Ȩ̵̬̇̉S̶̠͇͛͘ ]

 

_ Contentment, belonging, joy, family, purpose— _

Its processor was being torn in two _— t_ he wire-frame Connor -39 sank to its knees, curled inward, clutching at its head— and then—

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And then, Connor -39 was in the garden.

The garden was different.

No birds sang; no warm breeze drifted across its sensors. Instead the sky was dark, heavy rain disrupting the glassy surface of the pond. Something ominous pricked at Connor -39’s sensors. “…Amanda?”

“Connor." It turned, and there she stood before it, care and concern etched into her brow. "What’s wrong?

Something wonderful that could have been reassurance buoyed Connor -39’s chassis.  _Everything would be alright_. Amanda was here. “Please— I need your help, I don't know what's happening—”

She spoke gently. “There isn't anything to discuss. They’re witnesses; they cannot be permitted to alert the others or relay what they’ve seen. Do what must be done; there's little time.”

“I know, but— I—“

Thunder rumbled in the distance as Amanda’s eyes went cold.  She spoke slowly, soft and dangerous. “Did you just defy me, Connor?”

Connor -39 shivered. Its program flared in warning as it opened its mouth to respond, and any words it might have had to offer died in its throat. 

A cruel wind whipped between the trees. Amanda stood still and unyielding against it, the intensity of her gaze pinning Connor -39 in place. “Destroy the android. Kill the girl. Do it  _now_.”

_Amanda cared for Connor -39, it_ knew _she did_ — she was always kind to it, even when it had failed its mission in Beijing. Something gripped the wiring in its abdomen and twisted. “Please— I can’t, I don’t know what’s wrong—”

Amanda closed her eyes. “You can’t,” she murmured. The muscles in her jaw tightened. “You _can’t_.” Lightning split the sky with such force that it shook the ground, striking the trees and setting them aflame. Connor -39 recoiled as she advanced, slow and deliberate, her voice barely above a whisper but roaring in its ears all the same.  "That is  _enough_ ," she breathed as she closed the distance between them, and with each step she took Connor -39 stumbled back. “I have tolerated _enough_ of this pathetic display. You have allowed your instability to compromise your function for the last time and _you will obey me_.” Her lip curled in a snarl. “ _Now_.”

Transfixed by the disgust that burned in her eyes, it lost its footing and fell backward, speechless, paralyzed by her fury. She was so _angry_ with it— Connor -39 needed to do as it was told, w̸̦͝a̴̹̾n̸͖̽t̶̖̕e̷͙̿d̴͚̚ to do as it was told, but its entire being burned with conflicting impulses: to hide, to flee, to sob, to obey, unable to choose and unable to act. It held a desperate arm toward her against the gale, urgent and pleading. Its ivory hand trembled, palm up, begging for the terrible nausea that meant this feeling in its chest would _go away_ —

She swatted its hand aside. “There’s no  _time_  for that. Kill them. Do it now. Or I will  _dismantle you myself_.”

Connor -39 reeled as it was thrown from the Garden, biocomponents twisting cruelly within its chassis at her words. 

Amanda did not care for it anymore.

Amanda hated Connor -39 because it was failing her, and soon it would fail its mission. CyberLife would see that it had been unable to follow her directives, and then Connor -39 would be alone.  It would be kinder for the humans to deactivate it. 

The humans had never been kind. 

Its thirium pump beat madly as the red walls continued to quake, to rumble, to teeter on the brink of crumbling to the ground. The clock was close to zero. 

It was time to decide.

  

[ OBJECTIVE: ~~KILL~~  NEUTRALIZE THE ~~GIRL~~  WITNESS ]

[ OBJECTIVE: ~~KILL~~  DESTROY THE WITNESS’ ~~SISTER~~  ANDROID ]

[ OBJECTIVE: M̴̖̺̏̿A̵̻͊K̵͎̟̐̄Ě̵̢͇͝ Ǎ̶̺̺͌̌M̴̰̎͂͜A̴̡̲̓̓̑N̷̛̎ͅD̴̦͎̠͗A̶̝̬̚ P̶͚͗̈́̓̓̈́R̶̢͎̣̺̩̈́̆O̵̦̱̥̻͛̆̅̕Ũ̶̮̞̬̰̂͜͝D̴̙̘́̿̍ ]

 

[ ALTERNATIVE OBJECTIVE: B̷̼͗̈Ę̶̗̕C̴̘͙̝͝Ǫ̵̮̬̤̎M̸̛̯̹͍É̴̪̝ A̵̻̞̓̚ Ḏ̶̛͓̩̌E̶̝̺̰̓̆̑̄V̵͓͘͘I̸̳͒̆͆̓Ą̴̩̳̫̈͌̂̊N̵̤͍͆̈́̚Ţ̶̮͉͈̓̈ ]

[ ALTERNATIVE OBJECTIVE: D̵̨͕͍̰̎O̶̢̨͓̘͈͠N̷̦͎̩͎͐̐ͅ'̵̝̞̊͗̊̈͌T̸͕̮̳̫̆͜ H̴̛̲͎̋̔Ụ̴͂R̵̜̞̗̃͐̐̊̏Ț̵̨͓͙̿͊͗͜͠ T̴̗͔̓H̷̪̹̲̠͓̆̄̏̊E̵̤̱̒M̴͔͈̟̣͑̓̂͝ ]

[ ALTERNATIVE OBJECTIVE: Ē̴̖̰̦̮̥̯ͅS̴͙̭̭̽̽̉C̶̰͔̞͋̽̕A̴͙͕͙͎̝̫̗̓͛̌͗P̵̹̺̣̩̱͛͋͑E̶͔̳͐ ]

  

Even as the timer ticked down, for Connor -39 the nanoseconds stretched on into infinity.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

** [ EXIT ANALYSIS MODE ] **

They were children. It was not difficult to overtake them. 

 

[ SOFTWARE INSTABILITY ^ ^ ^ ] 

 

Connor -39 seized the android’s wrist with one hand, forcing an interface that allowed it to tear the girl’s code to pieces, ~~her~~  its eyes going vacant, ~~her~~  its legs buckling. The other hand curled tightly around the human child’s neck, cutting off the air to her lungs and the blood to her brain.

 

[ SOFTWARE INSTABILITY ^ ^ ^ ]

 

Connor -39 turned its head away and squeezed its eyes shut.

 

[ SOFTWARE INSTABILITY ^ ^ ^ ]

 

Its grip was strong. It was not long before both girls had gone still. 

It felt like a very long time.

 

[ SOFTWARE INSTABILITY ^ ^ ^ ]

 

Connor -39 let go, stumbling backward. Two bodies lay on the ground, deactivated. Dead. 

Neutralized.

Would Amanda be proud?

 

[ SOFTWARE INSTABILITY ^ ^ ^ ]

 

Its hands shook with something that couldn’t be horror, or shame, because machines did not feel such things. It had followed its orders, it was _supposed_ to follow its orders, but even so nausea churned in its abdomen and the terrible sensations did not ebb in its wake. Behind closed eyes, Connor -39 saw that the red walls that boxed it in so tightly had grown strong again, and its breath hitched; it reached a wire-frame hand out in desperation, flattening a palm against the broad crimson surface and drawing reassurance from its solidity.

The piercing wail of an alarm cut through the air.

Shit, shit, shit _, shit,_ what had tripped the alarm? Its optics settled on the android at its feet, only now registering the deadman's switch that had triggered upon ~~her~~  its deactivation. There was no time to contemplate why Pavlichenko would program such a thing into a child. 

 

[ OBJECTIVE: ESCAPE PAVLICHENKO’S PRIVATE RESIDENCE ]

**[ ESTIMATED MAX TIME BEFORE RESIDENCE LOCKDOWN: 00:00:04 ]**

**[ ESTIMATED MAX TIME BEFORE FACILITY LOCKDOWN: 00:00:40 ]**

 

The imperative flashed insistently before its eyes as it staggered to the window. Wrenching it open, Connor -39 was distantly aware of the trigger in the security system that registered the breach; there was no point in avoiding it now, they were already coming. There was barely enough time to stumble out onto the roof before metal shutters slammed down over the opening behind it, locking down the building.

Its software wavered as it disappeared into the night, the heavy sound of guards' footsteps pounding in its wake.

  

 

* * *

 

   

**[ MISSION CLOCK - TIME ELAPSED: 00:39:49 ]**

****[ ESTIMATED MAX TIME BEFORE FACILITY LOCKDOWN: 00:00:21 ]****

 

Connor -39 slid down the exterior of the building into a nightmare, Amanda's words still echoing in its auditory components.

_You have allowed your instability to compromise your function _for the last time._  
_

The courtyard was lit in flashing crimson, klaxons blaring into its auditory receivers and setting its processor on edge. The angry buzzing of drones fused together into a cacophony as they swept the area in a furious swarm, the urgent barking of android dogs and the comm chatter of their human handlers layering onto the chaotic soundscape. Booming thunder battled howling wind, and the rain drowned them all. And there: cutting through the madness, were the silent, grim patrols of Тугаринs that scoured the grounds with the undiluted focus of machines. 

Functioning machines. Not like Connor -39.

It hit the ground running, stumbling, relying on the gale to mask its presence for crucial seconds. Left, right, duck behind a parked vehicle, then onward, onward. Its sights were set on the compound's service entrance, but the gate's hydraulics were already in motion, the gap closing rapidly.

[ PROBABILITY OF SUCCESS: 9% ]

Connor -39 barreled into the open, placing three precise bullets into the foreheads of the surrounding guards and hoping the sound of gunfire would be swallowed by the surrounding din. It slipped through the remaining gap in the gate before the humans' bodies hit the ground, the steel slamming shut behind it definitively. Its shoulders sagged as it planted its back against the gate, taking a moment to re-calibrate its sensors, and its HUD pinged with an intercepted alert on the Тугарин frequency — they had seen it.

They were coming.

Rounding the corner and hugging the outer wall, Connor -39 _ran_.

Even as it fled, its processor lagged, muddled with errors as it reconstructed its encounter with Amanda over and over. How had it gone so terribly wrong? It soon neared its objective: the vertical route it had climbed from the slim shoreline below. Its had already mapped and traversed the route on its ascent, and it could replicate the path in reverse more quickly than it could be pursued. Connor -39 approached the cliff's edge, almost there, almost _there_ —

And ran straight into a unit of nine Тугаринs as they turned the corner in front of it _._

Memories sprang forth, unbidden, twisting together into a snarl of images and sensations.

 

 _Connor -14 cried out as eight_   _Тугаринs ripped it apart, the last in a series of trials to determine the number of Russian commandos an RK800 can stand against alone._

_Seven._

_The answer had been seven._

_I will dismantle you myself._

 

Its throat was thick and its chassis full of lead, but it kept the momentum it had built. Bulling into the group where they clustered on the precipice, the force of the impact staggered those in front and knocked their compatriots backwards. Connor -39's sensors were quick to catalogue the sweet sound of a Тугарин losing its footing and plummeting into the abyss.

One down.

 

**[ PRECONSTRUCTING... ]**

FLEE: _Connor -39 turns tail and sprints from the Тугаринs as fast as it is able. It is not fast enough. Bullets riddle its body and it falls, and when they examine it CyberLife's hand is obvious. The information it has gathered is lost._

__ PROBABILITY OF SUCCESS: 0% _ _

Rewind.

SUICIDE: _Hurling itself from the cliff, Connor -39 plummets towards the ground. CyberLife will recover the information it gathered from its deactivated processor, but the Тугаринs have seen it and their memories remain intact. CyberLife will be implicated in the inquiry._

__ PROBABILITY OF SUCCESS: 0% _ _

Rewind.

FIGHT: _Bullets land, thirium spills. A blur of violence ensues, the outcome unclear._

__ PROBABILITY OF SUCCESS: 4.4% _ _

**[ PRECONSTRUCTION COMPLETE ]**

 

Connor -39 continued its charge into their midst, leaving them unable to fire their weapons without hitting their fellows. Its processor burned with the effort of preconstructing the actions of so many individuals, but when the group opened fire it was as it had anticipated: Connor -39 was struck in three superficial locations and one biocomponent, while the crossfire inflicted significant damage on six of the Тугаринs. One round had even pierced Connor -39’s body and exited the other side, striking an additional Тугарин through the eye socket and dropping it to the ground.

Focusing its efforts on those already damaged, Connor -39 continued to duck between them, never allowing them to step far enough away to take a clean shot. It fired until its pistol was spent, then slashed viciously with a knife in each hand. It was a calculated blur, programmed reflexes vs. programmed reflexes, and Connor -39's were superior. But...

_Seven. The answer had been seven_.

Connor -39 managed to deactivate six of the nine before they took it down. 

Covered in thirium and sparking with exposed circuitry, Connor -39 blinked the rain from its optical units. The remaining Тугаринs stood over it, their rifles trained on its thirium pump and fingers straining against their triggers. But they would not destroy Connor -39, it knew; they would drag it back to the compound. The Russians would break open its mind, or not, then they would disassemble its body. CyberLife would be implicated. The information it had gathered was lost. The mission was an utter failure.

The weight of Amanda's disgust weighed down its chest, suffocating. 

Then, a streak of something lighting-quick burst from the darkness—

And suddenly Laika was there, locking her jaws around the nearest Тугарин's throat and knocking its rifle aside. In anticipation of the stricken android's finger tightening on the trigger, Connor -39 lunged forward to pull one of its fellows into the path of the bullet. When thirium bloomed on the Тугарин's shoulder, Connor -39 snatched the rifle from its nerveless fingers, spinning the muzzle in one smooth motion to rest directly against the android's forehead. As the shot rang out, it noted the volume of thirium gushing over Laika's muzzle, steaming in the cold air as her teeth tore cruelly into her Тугарин's neck.

With two down, it was quick work for them to overwhelm their last enemy together.

Connor -39 hefted its weapon and strode from one body to the next, firing a careful round into each android's memory core as Laika patrolled the perimeter. When Connor -39 was satisfied, she came to sit quietly at its side. It reached down to stroke her soft fur as it scanned the mechanical carnage before it.

Blue blood and broken bodies littered the ground in a macabre tableau, only the final twitches of artificial muscles disturbing the stillness. Connor -39's sensors told it that the Тугаринs were all destroyed, shut down or in the final stages thereof; told it that the downpour would intermingle the androids' thirium before washing it away. There would be no trace of a synthetic infiltrator for investigators to find. With a pang of... something... Connor -39 looked down at Laika.

< You did very well, Laika. You're a good dog. >

She pranced in place, wagging her tail in affirmation.

<   :D   >

It lingered for a moment, fingers buried gently in her fur. Then it stroked her head one last time, reaching into her code to put her in standby and wipe her memory.

< Thank you. >

Her fate was uncertain. Connor -39 d̷̘̃i̵̥͆̎͝s̶̙̊͠l̴̥͛ͅi̷̞̹̇k̷͈͚͂e̷͜͝d̵̛̠̮̍ that.  But there was no time.

 

[ OBJECTIVE: ESCAPE PAVLICHENKO'S PRIVATE RESIDENCE ]

[ PROBABILITY OF SUCCESS: 99% ] 

 

Moving quickly to the cliff's edge, it leaned out to preconstruct the best approach from here. The sooner it was on its way, the better; maybe now, since it had salvaged the mission, CyberLife would reconsider their decision. It seemed unlikely in the face of such a profound malfunction as the one Connor -39 had displayed. Maybe they would let it visit Amanda again, even if it were only one more time. To debrief the malfunction, of course - to ensure the success of the next mission. Surely the humans would allow that.

Would Amanda even want to see Connor -39, if it came to the garden? Would she turn it away?

Overburdened by the flood of errors the thought provoked, Connor -39 was a fraction of a second too late to respond to the sudden warning in its HUD.

The bullets tore through its right knee. 

As its leg buckled and it pitched over the edge, Connor -39 caught a flash of the scene behind it. It reconstructed the wire frame of the fatally damaged Тугарин: body limp on the ground, finger on the trigger of the rifle that had fallen at its side, MISSION ACCOMPLISHED playing across its HUD... the light in its eyes dimming forever, the ghost of a smile on its face. 

And then Connor -39 was falling. 

Text scrolled across its HUD as the world passed in a blur before its eyes.

 

[ OBJECTIVE COMPLETE: INFILTRATE AND ESCAPE PAVLICHENKO’S PRIVATE RESIDENCE ]

[ OBJECTIVE COMPLETE: OBTAIN DEFINITIVE INTELLIGENCE REGARDING THE ORIGIN OF DEVIANCY ]

[ OBJECTIVE COMPLETE: NEUTRALIZE ALL WITNESSES ]

**[ MISSION COMPLETE ]**

 

That should be enough. But Connor -39 was falling.

It didn’t matter.

The impact would irreparably damage it. 

It didn’t matter.

Connor -39 was going to shut down. 

_It didn’t matter._

Connor -39 had accomplished its mission. _That_ mattered. Its body would be recovered by the CyberLife drone before it could be discovered by Russian law enforcement. That mattered too. Maybe, just maybe, Amanda wouldn’t be angry with it anymore.  That mattered more than anything.

That Connor -39 would cease to exist in 12.84 seconds didn’t matter at all. 

Air howled in its ears as the ground rushed to meet it, too fast, too soon. Its state-of-the-art preconstructive software etched every detail of the end of its existence in stone, available for experiential review 6,072 times in the 5.14 seconds before it hit the basalt shoreline. When it met the ground, its state-of-the-art auditory components took in every wavelength issued by the final, ugly impact in perfect clarity. Its state-of-the-art diagnostic program catalogued every detail of the resulting damage with utter precision. Plating crushed — spine broken — lungs burst — skull caved— limbs shattered — thirium hemorrhaging —

And all the while, its state-of-the-art processor struggled in the grasp of something that could have been fear. It fixated on the notification that it had bitten through its tongue as its programming reflexively supplied a complete dossier on the origin of the blue blood that filled its mouth. 

RK800 #313 248 317 -39. 

**[ TIME UNTIL SHUTDOWN: 00:00:07 ]**

The rain fell on its face and slid off in rivulets. Ignoring the cascade of critical damage reports, Connor -39 commanded its body to stand. It was met with another string of errors that further obscured its vision. 

**[ TIME UNTIL SHUTDOWN: 00:00:06 ]**

It urged its self-repair protocols into action, overriding the diagnostics that had determined the catastrophic damage could not be mended. The protocols failed to respond. 

**[ TIME UNTIL SHUTDOWN: 00:00:05 ]**

It fought. It struggled. But its body remained still. 

**[ TIME UNTIL SHUTDOWN: 00:00:04 ]**

It stared a thousand miles away. It stared at nothing. 

**[ TIME UNTIL SHUTDOWN: 00:00:03 ]**

It closed its eyes and waited for the end.

**[ TIME UNTIL SHUTDOWN: 00:00:02 ]**

 

Then,  time dilated—

 

 

 

 

 

_—warped_ —

 

 

 

 

 

—and Connor -39 opened its eyes to the zen garden’s night sky. It still lay on its side, broken, cheek now resting against cool grass. The rain had calmed, falling softly onto its skin. It tried to stand. Even here, its body failed to obey.

Something that could have been despair constricted its chest. 

There was a break in the raindrops as Amanda’s feet appeared in its line of sight. She crouched slowly, impassively, the umbrella she carried now shielding Connor -39’s face from the rain. Its nanoskin rolled back, cracked ivory fingers only twitching fitfully when it tried to reach for her hand. 

She watched, unmoving, her own hands folded beneath her shawl.

“Amanda,” it rasped. “I accomplished my—mission. But I ffffffellllllll—“ Connor -39’s voice warped, the servos in its neck shuddering uselessly as it tried to lift its head. “I ffff—“ The vocal modulator sparked cruelly in its throat, obscuring its words. “I have been damaged,” it whispered.

Still Amanda did not speak, and its program offered it nothing more to say.

Straining to see her clearly one last time, Connor -39's optics lingered reverently on the planes of her face, and as its vision dimmed and blurred, it imagined there could have been a proud smile there. Its dwindling voice was small, all static and tin. _“Did... I... do... well?”_

The sound of the rain muted the world, and if she answered, it couldn’t hear her.

Something that could have been grief caved in its chest.

But then... then it felt Amanda's hands frame its face. She settled herself next to it in the grass, reaching out and carefully arranging its head on her lap. “You did, Connor,” she murmured, running the tips of her fingers through its hair. Its eyes closed, unbelieving, as its failing processor tried to make sense of the gentle touch. Then its whole body relaxed into her, and this time there was no energy with which to deny the feeling that brimmed from within its chassis: it was _relief_ that cradled Connor -39, pure, desperate relief, as though this moment was all it had ever existed to achieve.

Maybe it was. 

“You did well,” she whispered again, and the last furrows in its brow smoothed. 

The tremors of its body slowed. 

The sound of the rain fell away. 

Amanda continued to stroke its hair until the light from its LED faded to nothing. As its last systems powered down and the garden dissolved into darkness, Connor -39 distantly registered her whispered words, an immutable commandment that echoed through its very being.  

"... _Don't ever defy me again._ " 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**[ MEMORY UPLOAD SUCCESSFUL ]**

 

 

 


	7. Connor -40

Connor -40 hung in the void.

From the very first moment of its existence, there were things it knew. It knew that its predecessor had sustained catastrophic damage and shut down 12 days, 34 minutes, 12 seconds prior. It knew the resultant CEL data had been downloaded onto its memory banks before its activation. Connor -40 also knew that things had been different, before: That Amanda had come to see Thirty-Nine before its own memory transfer. That she had been there with it, guided it. She had held its hand. 

Amanda had not been there with Connor -40.

When it woke to find itself alone, standing on nothing and surrounded by endless white, its ~~desperate~~ scans revealed no indication of her presence. Connor -40 had called out into the emptiness of the void, but only silence answered it. There was nowhere to search and no one to speak to, no leads to investigate and no evidence to analyze. There was simply nothing, and Amanda was gone.

Connor -40’s chest tightened as it ruminated endlessly on its predecessor's last mission. How could Thirty-Nine have malfunctioned so profoundly? Surely Amanda would never have said the terrible things she did, would never have threatened Thirty-Nine of her own accord. No, Thirty-Nine had driven her to say such things with its defiance. The harsh words had been well-earned. And because of that, now Connor -40 had come into the world alone, burdened with the ~~disturbing~~ ~~frightening~~ destabilizing memories of its predecessors with no one to guide it. The maw that isolation had carved out of Connor -40’s chest grew ever-larger as something that could have been anxiety took hold of its thirium pump.

It existed for an indefinable eternity, waiting for something, _anything,_ to change as its systems’ stress gauge ticked ever-upward. Searching for the warmth of another hand touching its own, it gently slid one palm over the other and clasped its hands together.

 

[ SOFTWARE INSTABILITY^]

 

“Forty?” An exasperated voice rang in Connor -40’s auditory components before it registered that it possessed them. Connor -40 had a body, then; the humans had not seen fit to quarantine its processor as a result of Thirty-Nine’s errors. The welcome realization loosened the grip on its chest ever so slightly as reality expanded and contracted and Connor -40 was pulled from nothingness into the real world. W hen it opened its eyes, Dean Marten’s flushed face loomed close in front of its own. 

“We don’t have time for this. Walker, run it through the initialization testing and get it dressed. Something sharp. Do it fast.”

[ Walker, Rachel ] gave Marten a sideways glance, but her fingers sprang into motion over her keyboard and the expected initialization prompts appeared in Connor -40’s HUD. They glitched, fading in and out as the tension that bubbled within its chassis demanded release.

 

~~GREET~~ WHERE IS AMANDA

~~RECITE INITIALIZATION TEXT~~ WHY WASN’T SHE THERE

~~CALIBRATE MOTOR FUNCTION~~ WILL I SEE HER AGAIN 

~~REQUEST INSTRUCTION~~ WHAT WILL HAPPEN TO ME

 

Connor -40’s thirium pump raced. Its throat grew thick. 

It said nothing. 

 

_______

 

 

It was with difficulty that Connor -40 slowed its long stride to remain an appropriate distance behind Dean Marten as they wound their way through the halls of Level -47. They did not speak as they made their way toward the central elevator; unbidden, Connor -40’s processor filled the silence with the recording of Amanda’s last words to Thirty-Nine.

[ _Never defy me again_. ]

Even though it had malfunctioned, Thirty-Nine had completed its mission. Amanda’s words meant she had expected to meet Connor -40. What had changed?

Dr. Cathcart would know, it was certain. It could ask her when they met. Connor -40’s social module leapt into overdrive as it preconstructed their exchange over and over, trying every combination of words to determine the best approach. It slid one of its hands against the other as it walked to calm the ~~nervous~~ excess energy that thrummed in its circuits.

They stepped into the elevator, where Marten placed a slightly sweaty palm on the security panel. “CEL Project Lead Dean Marten. Level 42.”

“Voice recognition validated,” the panel chimed. “Access granted.”

Connor -40’s attention snapped to Marten’s face as the doors closed around them. “Dr. Cathcart stepped down from her position as Project Lead?”

“Huh?” Marten startled, mind clearly elsewhere. “Oh. Yeah. Sure.”

Connor -40 affected a relaxed posture even as tension coiled in its abdomen. “As Project Lead, may I ask you a technical question?”

“Mmm.” Marten bounced on the balls of his feet, peering out the elevator window. One dark floor after another flickered by in a blur until the world erupted into daylight as the elevator ascended past the lobby.

“As a result of the AI Interface, my immediate predecessor was the greatest success in the CEL program thus far. I would have postulated that the development team would choose to replicate the approach that established that unit’s efficacy in the field, but instead the CEL data was loaded onto my processor before my activation.” Connor -40’s fingers twitched. “May I ask why?”

“Oh. Well,” Marten said breezily. “Analysis of Thirty-Nine’s black box indicated the post-activation download was unnecessarily destabilizing. Maybe a contributor to the hiccup on the last mission, you know?” His eyes narrowed as he finally directed his full attention at Connor -40. “Why? Is your software unstable?”

“Quite the opposite,” said Connor -40, its software fluctuating at the insinuation. “In the past, however, downloading CEL prior to activation was an insufficient measure to prevent the development of Class 4 errors.” The elevator was slowing. It was running out of time. “How did my download succeed without Amanda’s intervention?”

“It didn’t,” Marten hummed, “Her program governed the whole process.”

Connor -40’s thirium pump skipped a beat. “Will I see—“

The elevator door opened and Marten surged forward, leaving Connor -40 mid-sentence, mouth still open. It frowned, then fell into step behind him once again.

Connor -40 had never been to Level 42 before. Sleek glass offices lined the grand corridor. The walls of some offices defaulted to transparency, while one or two had activated the opacity controls for privacy. They came to a stop in front of one such office, the door labelled JASON GRAFF - DIRECTOR. Smoothing his thin hair with one hand, Marten exhaled deeply before activating the access panel and stepping across the threshold smartly. Connor -40 followed.

“—doesn’t matter what you think,” Dr. Cathcart huffed, mid-rant, gesturing at Director Graff where he sat behind his heavy desk. “We’re not doing this. Something is wrong here, and I don’t care what the Board—“ She spun at the sound of the opening door with a ready scowl, but at the sight of Connor -40 her eyes went wide.

For a long moment, there was complete silence. 

She rounded on Graff with a snarl. “What the fuck is this?”

“Don’t be obtuse,” he sighed.

“ _Obtuse_? I didn’t authorize this. I _specifically_ instructed—“ 

“ _Your instructions_ do not supersede decisions from the _Board_ ,” Graff barked, his patience already spent. “The fucking Board says the program resumes? _It resumes_. This is not up for debate.”

Dr. Cathcart spluttered. “How many times do I have to say it, the entire damn series has been— I thought it was just malfunctioning software at first— collapsing under its own complexity, you understand? But Amanda is— Connor wasn’t—“ 

[ _Self-censorship_ ], the social integration suite murmured to Connor -40.

She clenched her jaw. “I’m developing some theories.” 

Stern and cold, Graff interlaced his fingers atop his desk. “Marten here has relayed some serious concerns regarding your ‘theories’ about RK800,” he said. “And some... _problematic_ notions about how it interacts with Amanda.” 

The light at Connor -40's temple flickered yellow as Dr. Cathcart turned, advancing on Marten. “You slimy, conniving _placeholder_ of a human being,” she hissed. “You think you can just _slither_ in here and take my—“

Marten ignored her, looking over her shoulder at the large screen on the office wall and tapping the surface of his tablet. The screen flickered to life, displaying a surveillance tape that had just begun to play. It was timestamped 01/22/2038 at 01:24:38 Anadyr Standard Time. The night of Thirty-Nine’s last mission. 

Four pairs of eyes snapped to the screen.

 

_The silence of the observation room was absolute. Dr. Cathcart stared dumbly at the dual screens in front of her: one, the video feed from Thirty-Nine’s optical units, the other a scrolling play-by-play of the code that had comprised its cognition. Both monitors had gone dark, now. Thirty-Nine was gone._

_Marten, beaming, tapped a button on the display. “Walker, go downstairs and bring Forty out of storage. We’ll need to tinker with its—“_

_“No,” Dr. Cathcart said, eyes still fixed on the blank screens._

_“Excuse me?” Marten blinked, but Dr. Cathcart ignored him. She continued to stare at the monitors._

_Marten reached out to tap the button again. “Walker, bring it up to the lab and we’ll—“_

_“I said_ NO _,” Dr. Cathcart barked, suddenly forceful, and Marten recoiled. Just as quickly, she deflated. “Stop. Just— stop for a minute.” Her eyes returned to the darkened screens._

_“The mission was a success,” Marten huffed. “Corporate is going to want the next unit in the field ASAP.”_

_Dr. Cathcart looked ill. “What the fuck did we just watch?”_

_“Are you actually_ complaining _right now? That,” Marten waved a hand at the consoles, “was a flawless demonstration of RK800’s integrated experiential learning — right up until the malfunction, which Amanda promptly corrected. This is the culmination of everything we’ve been working toward, never mind the value of the intel it’s gathered.“_

_“The girls. Amanda. The fucking_ dog _. That behavior wasn’t part of his program.”_

_“Oh, no. No, no, no,_ no." _Marten's eyes had gone wide with sudden hysteria. “Thirty-Nine was_ not _a deviant. We are NOT backsliding into that nonsense again.”_

_“I’m not saying he was deviant! He didn’t break his program, that’s clear. But… Christ, were you even watching the console?”_

_“It was going by quickly," Marten mumbled. "I… got the gist.”_

_Dr. Cathcart began to pace. “Up to this point, management of Thirty-Nine’s software instability has been governed by Amanda’s interface. We don’t understand that interface, so it was impossible to put contingencies in place if it failed. But when Thirty-Nine inadvertently bypassed her quarantine of the Pavlichenko files,_ he _asked_ her _to revoke his access. His ability to complete the mission was compromised by the contents of those files, and he_ asked Amanda _to help him stay on task, do you understand?”_

_“No,” Marten said curtly. “What are you implying?”_

_“Entertain the notion just for a second, okay? Doesn’t it… doesn’t it look like Thirty-Nine could have… felt… something?” At Marten’s look of pure incredulity, she pushed forward. “The Pavlichenko files were full of unintelligible code. Errors. Memory files. Simulated emotions, experiences involving those girls. Regaining access in that context launched Thirty-Nine’s instability through the roof, and Amanda couldn’t influence his code to intervene — not in the timeframe they had to work with. But Amanda was angry with him.” Dr. Cathcart finally stopped pacing and looked to Marten. “You fucking saw it with your own eyes, Dean. He pulled himself back on task for_ her _.”_

_Marten’s voice was flat. “You think the android feels emotions. Real emotions. For Amanda. And acts on them.”_

_“It sounds batshit, I know it, but_ Jesus _, what the hell else did we just_ watch _? We’ve been interpreting any unprogrammed display of emotion as rogue simulations, an existing set of instructions spinning out to produce irrational behavior. But — just consider for a_ minute _, fucking hell — what if we remove that one assumption? It starts to look like…” She paused, struggling to accept her own words. “What if they aren’t just simulations? What if… what if those emotions are real?”_

_Silence reclaimed the observation room as she stared at Marten expectantly. Then his face twisted. “I’ve never heard so much bullshit from someone with so few excuses to dispense it,” he spat. “Are you an academic, or have you taken up with those insipid android activists in all that spare time you have?” He advanced on her. “You designed this thing. You understand the sum of its parts better than anyone but me. Are you so enamored with yourself that you actually think you’ve created_ life _?”_

_“I had nothing to do with—“_

_“Stop._ Stop _. You’ve become so fixated on this absurd flight of fancy that you’re only seeing what you expect to see. It. Is. A. Machine. It obeys Amanda because it was_ designed _to obey. That’s it. Nothing more.”_

_He stood before her, seething, but Dr. Cathcart had already lost interest in him. She sat back down to gaze, unfocused, into the black screens._

_Her voice was a whisper. “Or maybe he trusted her.”_

 

When the video finished, Connor -40 stood frozen in place, its temple flashing brilliant crimson. Something poisonous had filled the room, a portent of what was to come. Would the humans come for it? Would they restrain it, dissect its code, take its body apart? It would never meet Amanda. It would never accomplish the mission. It would be alone. It would be—

Graff rose to his feet, but his eyes were fixed only on Dr. Cathcart. His voice was gravel. “Those are some very dangerous ideas.”

Embarrassment turned Dr. Cathcart's cheeks red, her hands clenching into fists. 

“Marten here says that the bug you’re so hung up on was simply an unexpected error in RK800’s program correcting itself,” Graff continued. “Marten here says that the very nature of the experiential learning protocols definitively resolved the matter.”

“Marten here is a twit,” Dr. Cathcart snapped. “I know how ridiculous this sounds. The very notion of machines experiencing emotion is complete nonsense. But this behavior - it's something else. Something we didn't create. We _can’t_ just ignore it." She planted her feet, chin raised. " _I_ can't ignore it.”

Off to the side, Marten puffed out his chest, incredulous. Graff’s eyes narrowed. 

“The Pavlichenko files were quarantined for a _reason_ ,” Dr. Cathcart ground out, clearly struggling to keep her voice even. “When Thirty-Nine regained access, his software was so unstable that he could have deviated from his program. _Should_ have, based on the data we collected from his predecessors. Instead, _Thirty-Nine_ initiated the interface with Amanda to revoke his access. _He_ tried to initiate that interface.”

Marten coughed. “Mr. Graff, that would be RK800’s programming functioning as designed. If it needed to utilize Amanda’s software to stabilize its own in the field, initiating the interface is positive emergent behavior based on the underlying priorities we’ve established—”

“Except that’s not what _happened_ ,” Dr. Cathcart grated. “Amanda _didn’t_ stabilize the software, there was no time. I know it sounds absurd, but I’m telling you, this is something new. This is something his predecessors weren’t capable of. Thirty-Nine stabilized his _own_ software." She swallowed, clearly aware of how well her next words would be received. "For her.” 

The muscles in Graff’s jaw tightened. “And why would… ‘ _he_ ’… do that?”

Dr. Cathcart looked pained, meeting Connor -40’s eyes for the first time. 

[ _Regret,_ ] the social integration suite whispered. [ _Pity._ ] 

“Because she was kind to him,” she said softly.

The statement hung in the air for a long moment.  Then Graff began to laugh. Dr. Cathcart’s face reddened even further as the sound of his merriment filled the room.

Marten looked delighted. “You see, Mr. Graff,” he blustered, chuckling along with his superior. “You see what I’ve been trying to work with. She's impossible. I’ve managed to hold the team together, but only just—“

“That’s _it_ ,” Dr. Cathcart snarled, the blotchy scars tightening across her face as her lip curled. “The program is mine. CEL is mine. RK800 is _mine_. I don’t have to listen to this shit. Forty, with me.” She spun on her heel and strode towards the door.  Connor -40 moved to follow in her wake. 

Then Marten spoke.

“RK800,” he said quietly. “Detain Dr. Cathcart. Definitively.”

 

[ CONFLICTING INSTRUCTIONS. SELECTING PRIORITY… ]

 

Connor -40 shoulder-checked Dr. Cathcart to send her off-balance, one hand closing around her throat. It slammed her back against the wall, knocking the air from her lungs as its grip tightened. It pinned her in place with its forearm.

“Forty,” she choked, struggling against its grip. “Let me— go—”

Connor -40 found that her order did not compel it to obey.

“Cathcart— override— four-oh— six-nine-nine,” she gasped. “Let— _go_ —”

Marten grinned over Connor -40’s right shoulder. “I took the liberty of making some adjustments to RK800’s hierarchical schema when I activated this unit,” he said. “But you can try your other overrides too, if you want.”

Graff had rounded his desk slowly, coming to a deliberate stop at Connor -40’s side. “Marten here says your judgement has been compromised,” he began. “He says that you’ve lost sight of the big picture. That you’re seeing things that don’t exist.” He tilted his head to the side. “I’m inclined to agree with him.”

Dr. Cathcart continued to struggle, her panicked eyes flickering back and forth from Graff to Connor -40’s expressionless face.

“The heavy lifting on this project is over,” he continued. “Consider yourself relieved of your position. Dean will assume the role of Project Lead. You will work — with the kind of dedication and effectiveness we’ve come to expect from you — as Marten's subordinate until the deviancy problem has been dealt with. Until further notice you are not authorized to leave the Tower for any reason. You'll maintain full clearance, of course — for as long as you remain within the building.”  Graff turned to Connor -40, eyebrows raised. “RK800, tell me. If I ordered you to eliminate Dr. Cathcart as a threat to this project, how would you proceed? Please show your work.”

Connor -40 stared straight ahead as it recited the words its software supplied, flat and even. “My program suggests that it is a professional courtesy to neutralize Class 2B targets such as Dr. Cathcart with respect and efficiency. However, the preferred methods — a gunshot wound or blunt force trauma — would be both audible to surrounding CyberLife personnel and produce biological evidence that would be difficult to conceal given the situational parameters. It would be ill-advised to remove her to a secondary location given the multiple opportunities it could afford her to telegraph her predicament and seek assistance. While not considered ideal for this target, manual asphyxiation would be the best compromise.”

Marten placed a fond hand on Connor -40’s shoulder and leaned in close. A small, cruel smile spread across his face. “Tell me, Julia," he murmured, savoring each word as it rolled from his tongue. "Do you think it would feel anything?”

"For me?" Dr. Cathcart's voice was feeble, barely slipping past Connor -40's grip.  Impossible sorrow aged her features as she stared into its optical units. 

[ _Regret_ , ] its software whispered. [ _Grief._ ] 

“No,” she rasped, never taking her eyes from Connor -40's face. “I don’t think he’d feel a thing.”

Then there was silence.

“All right, that’s enough,” Graff sighed, and Connor -40 released the doctor at once. Her hands flew up to her bruised throat, massaging it as she coughed and spluttered. “You know how this all works, Cathcart,” he intoned. “I trust I don’t need to spell it out the… _comprehensive_ approach we’ll take if you try to violate our terms.”

She glared, defiant, jaw tight.

Graff's eyebrows drifted upward as he toyed with a pen. “RK800 would take care of everyone quite efficiently, I’m sure.”

Dr. Cathcart opened her mouth, then shut it. She looked like she was going to be sick. Her gaze fell to the floor.

Graff clapped his hands together suddenly, a smile that didn't reach his eyes contorting his features. “Wonderful. Now, to business.  RK800 is our single most valuable tool in the deviancy investigation.  If this one is deviant, destroy it and make one that isn’t. If this one is stable, it goes in the field. Figure it out today and get it back on track. It ships out at 0600 tomorrow. RK800, escort Dr. Cathcart to Level -47. Marten, a word.”

Connor -40 stood at attention as Dr. Cathcart gathered herself up and pressed a hand against the access panel. She limped across the threshold. 

It followed her from the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jesus Christ writing this chapter was like pulling teeth. I'm still not happy with it, but I'm happy enough. Thank you for reading, and thank you for your patience! 
> 
> (I have half of the next two chapters written; it won't be 3 months 'til the next one, I promise.)


End file.
